


Dawn x to x Dusk

by sweetautumnwine



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Character Death, Dismemberment, Doctor Leorio Paladiknight, Gen, HxHBB20, Leorio-Centric, M/M, Major Character Injury, Nenless Gon, Nonbinary Kurapika (he/him), Survival, Trauma, Zombie Apocalypse, but well hope you enjoy anyway haha, fewer zombies more apocalypse, for clarity we’ll say killua & gon are mid-teens and leorio & kurapika are mid-20s, hxhbb, sorry about killing a main character, that isnt addressed in the fic but it's how i saw kurapika while writing, this is NOT the story we need right now but it’s the one I committed to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 11:07:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24848761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetautumnwine/pseuds/sweetautumnwine
Summary: It’s a battle of survival, and some days, it seems like the fight is futile. The world is decaying. They’ve endured hardship before, but nothing quite like this. Together, they hope, they can overcome the trials that await them and even help others while they’re at it, but each day presents unique challenges. If it isn’t fending off zombies or rogue, misguided survivors, it’s locating shelter from the elements or scavenging food that hasn’t already expired.Leorio faces the challenge of protecting those he loves when doing so could mean his own demise, and he struggles with limited medical supplies to provide care, making sacrifices even when doing so twists his stomach. Headaches can be tolerated; twisted ankles cannot. Killua wrestles with responsibility as he strives to protect his sister and his best friend. Kurapika fights the urge for self-preservation and dreams of home when he is able to sleep. Gon manages a smile even when the times are tough, even as his own hope falters.Together, their chances are better. But when faced with trauma and tragedy, they must determine whether they have any real chance of survival at all.Written for the HxH Big Bang 2020 Event.
Relationships: Gon Freecs & Alluka Zoldyck & Killua Zoldyck, Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight, Leorio Paladiknight & Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 21
Kudos: 52
Collections: Hxhbb





	1. Chapter 1

Daybreak comes with a promise. You have survived. You are alive. A new day has begun.

For Leorio, dawn is a renewal of both life and struggle. He wakes with aching joints and weary eyes before slipping his glasses onto his face. One lens is cracked, and the wire frame has been bent, but the ritual is less about function and purpose than it is a sense of normalcy. These distractions from reality, reminders of a time before the development of an actual apocalypse—Leorio finds himself, likely more so than the others, clinging to fragments of the past to help him cope.

This morning, he wakes in an abandoned shed. Close quarters are common. Nearest to him is Kurapika, straight-limbed and serene, blankets barely tousled from a night of still sleep. Killua and his sister hold hands as they rest, Alluka bearing a slight smile as she dreams while Killua occasionally tenses, brows furrowed, before relaxing as he succumbs to deeper sleep. Legs exposed and arms extended, Gon snores softly, ensnared in that pleasant escape from waking life.

Leorio rises, taking care to avoid the creaking boards he discovered the previous evening. Though the small windows have been boarded up, slivers of sunlight force their way in through the cracks, capturing thick clouds of dust as they swirl up from the floor.

They were lucky to find this place in the woods. Several months of unuse had left the place unstable but secure, and while the shed is cramped, it makes for a fine campsite—protective, dry, hidden. It is unlikely that any hoards would approach them. In small numbers, the zombies were manageable, and the group had advantages in the woods that allowed them to stay safe and in control.

Stretching out his shoulders, Leorio takes silent inventory of their supplies. Their rations become depleted much more rapidly than Leorio ever expects. He himself has a voracious appetite, but he fights to curb his hunger at every opportunity, halving his portions at each meal and, on occasion, passing the extra to the kids. Any chance to see them smile or hear them sigh with relief and gratitude is worthwhile. Leorio wonders, at times, if this is what it means to be a father.

He steps around Kurapika’s still form—sparing a glance at his peaceful face with lips slightly parted, eyelashes shadowed on soft cheeks—and peers through the breaks in the boards of the walls. Outside, the forest is quiet, save for the chatter of birds and the hum of buzzing insects. Pink petals flutter from unseen canopies, illuminated by the morning sun, and fall delicately onto dew-dappled grass. From this place, it is difficult to remember how chaos-wrecked the world is, how cities have toppled and societies dismantled, how morgues have been filled only to be shuttered and abandoned out of fear and dread.

Now, away from the hubs of infection, Leorio tries to keep the most haunting memories at bay. Remembering the widespread impact, the tangible threat of loss and suffering, and the inevitable confrontation with more undead is key. But the first case he saw being wheeled into the ICU, strapped to a stretcher and snarling, saliva frothing and spewing from cracked lips; the howls of infected patients as they fought against hospital staff, kicking and clawing through cloth and flesh; the blood-smear of handprints on glass separating the infected from the healthy, whole wings blockaded as the hospital struggled to operate as normal. These are the things Leorio wishes he could forget.

“Leorio?”

Tense, he turns around. He can’t quite manage a smile but tries to unclench his jaw when he spots Gon, sitting up and yawning, roused from his slumber. His voice is still hoarse from sleep, and he keeps his reply quiet. “Morning, Gon.”

“You sleep okay?” Following suit, Gon hushes himself, glancing at the others as he speaks.

Leorio nods. “I was thinking about going out to search for food. Didn’t want to wake any of you though.”

Gon’s eyes brighten. “I’ll come with you!”

“You don’t have to.”

Pouting, Gon stands, bending into a crouch to stretch out his legs. When he finishes, he stands tall, chin jutted out defiantly as he approaches. “It’s safer to go together, Leorio. That’s what you always say.”

“Yeah, guess I do,” Leorio says with a sigh.

The brazen look on Gon’s face is compelling. His cheeks still bear some smudges of grime, and Leorio impatiently cups Gon’s face to rub away the marks with his thumb. Though Gon grimaces at Leorio’s use of force, he grins once he’s finished, and Leorio can’t help but ruffle his hair in response. Leorio tries not to think about Gon’s vulnerability; he still maintains his physical strength, sure, but they all know that Gon’s might, his spirit, has suffered along with his loss of nen—though it’s hard to tell with his face-splitting grin.

“Come on,” Leorio says, straightening. “Let’s find something good for breakfast. It’ll be a nice treat for us all.”

Eager as ever, Gon skillfully avoids the loose boards and helps Leorio shift the furniture barricade out of the way before undoing the lock. He opens the door just enough to slip through the opening, and Leorio follows after, closing the door slowly as he takes another look at the sleeping forms in the shadows, willing them to stay safe and at peace in their absence.

* * *

By the time they return, the sun has chased away the chill of early morning, and the others have awoken. Killua has ripped the boards from the windows to allow the light in, and he, as well as Alluka, have taken charge of assessing their inventory.

Kurapika greets Leorio at the door, a stern and implaccable expression drawn upon his features. “You could have left a note.”

Leorio pushes the door open to pass him and sets a small sack on the floor. “We didn’t go that far. And with Gon’s nose, we had an easy time finding things we could use.”

Beaming, Gon bounds into the shed. “It was just like when I was little. There were lots of fruit trees and berries and plenty of nuts. We got a big haul!”

“Plus,” Leorio says, drawing a smaller bag from his jacket pocket, “we also got something really special.”

When he opens it, he excitedly holds it out to Kurapika who hesitates before peering inside. He blinks. “Eggs?”

“They’re a little small, but we got a bunch!” Gon says, bouncing on his heels. Leorio absently plucks a twig from Gon’s hair; he’d scaled a dozen trees before finding a nest, and though he might have hesitated before, Gon had gathered the eggs with childlike glee, brandishing them to Leorio who waited down below. “We thought it’d be nice to have a good breakfast.”

Kurapika nods slowly, grazing his lower lip with his teeth. “That was considerate. Still, Leorio, you know better than to—”

With a bold, grand gesture of his arms, Leorio gathers up a box of supplies as well as one of the sacks and nudges the door open wider with his foot. “Well, I bet you’re all as hungry as I am. Let’s get cooking!”

Leorio deliberately avoids Kurapika’s eyes as he leaves the shed, but he bears some semblance of an apologetic smile as he passes him by. It isn’t intentional negligence or antipathy that has guided Leorio’s actions of late. He is driven by survival as well as a protective urge unlike anything he’s felt since his youth. Gon had been right in arguing that leaving shelter in small groups is better than traversing alone, but Leorio had been fully prepared, should the need arise, to distract an enemy and sacrifice himself. 

Only a few weeks had passed once the group had found each other before Leorio settled on this resolve. He knows that his medical skills can be valuable, but in most cases, a first aid kit will suffice. Twisted ankles, aching bruises, cuts and scrapes: these can be treated with the supplies they still have and easily tended by anyone. And in the case of a zombie bite, there simply is no treatment. They all know that by now. The only option is to put the infected out of their misery before they infect anyone else. This is reality..

Leorio gathers some firewood and dumps it in front of the shed while Gon gets to work, assembling a conical shape of twigs, stuffing dry leaves in the hollow space, and readying thicker logs to slip into the flames. He strikes the fire steel with a hefty piece of flint, and eventually, the sparks catch.

With some teamwork, they craft a platform on either side of the fire and heft a flat stone on top to heat it. While Gon monitors the flames as they rise to lick the stone’s edges, Leorio stands, stretching his hands up above his head until he hears the bones of his shoulders shift and crack.

Kurapika watches him, his gaze level. A subtle nod beckons Leorio over, and he obeys with little reservation, sidling up beside him and scuffing his shoes in the dirt.

“So what spurred this idea on?” Kurapika asks, leaning against the side of the shed. His eyes and body are alert though his expression remains neutral. “Don’t tell me you’re keeping track of birthdays or anniversaries or anything stupid.”

“First of all,” Leorio says, wiping his hands on his thighs, “those things aren’t stupid. Just because the world’s a shit show right now doesn’t mean we have to surrender everything that was once important or fun.”

“Ah, of course.”

“But no, I’m not tracking those things. I’ve got too much else on my mind, I guess. I don’t even know what day of the week it is anymore,” Leorio confesses.

From inside the shed, Killua pipes up. “It’s obviously Thursday.”

“I don’t know if you’re making that up or if your weird assassin training accounted for the apocalypse, but sure, let’s say it’s Thursday.”

“Just thought you’d want to know,” Killua grumbles, much to Alluka’s amusement. When she giggles, Leorio can’t help but smile. The kids have been consistent, both lighthearted and sincere, and those moments of levity and innocence evoke a soreness in Leorio’s chest that he often fears he’s forgotten.

He directs his attention back to Kurapika whose impatience radiates off of him in waves. Leorio clears his throat. “Anyway, I just thought, since we’ve found a relatively safe place and managed to snag ourselves a moment to  _ breathe _ , it would be nice to indulge in whatever way we can.”

“It was a nice thought.” Though Kurapika admits this, his lips are taut. “You still should have left a note or some indication of where you were going. For our sakes.”

Leorio shrugs, leaning back against the side of the shed to avoid Kurapika’s eyes. “I didn’t think much of it. Besides, if anything happened, I’d just have sent Gon running back here. You know how fast he is. There’s no way they could catch him, especially if they were distracted.”

“And what about you?”

“What  _ about _ me?”

Kurapika exhales forcefully. “If something  _ did  _ happen, what would you have done?”

Lifting his chin, Leorio takes a moment to watch the trees. The highest branches sway in a breeze he can’t feel, and behind them, the sky is impossibly blue, bright enough to burn. Finally, Leorio nods, solemn and sharp. “We all have our roles to play. I know mine. I’ve accepted it. If it comes down to me or any of you, I know what I’ll do.”

Kurapika’s knuckles tap Leorio’s shoulder. There’s enough force behind the gesture that Leorio can feel Kurapika’s fury, but the effort is restrained, designed not to harm but to warn. “Don’t put yourself in that situation.”

“I don’t think I have much control over that,” Leorio says, laughing.

“I mean it,” Kurapika says, head bowed. “Making stupid decisions, acting without consulting the group, believing you’re in any way expendable? Right now, we need to cooperate. And that means doing whatever we can to avoid any losses. Especially you.”

Leorio wants to argue. He wants to cite the journeys they’ve all had, how far they’ve come, how much they have to live for, how of the five of them, Leorio is the most expendable, and that’s just plain fact. But he can’t bring himself to fight. Instead, he covers Kurapika’s hand, still curled into a loose fist, and presses the knuckles more firmly against his shoulder.

“Okay,” he says, offering a small smile. “I’ll do what I can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always encouraged and appreciated ^-^


	2. Chapter 2

_ Five months ago _

Leorio rolls back his shoulders and ignores the dark circles under his eyes in his reflection as he scrubs his hands clean. Every day is long, and none of them are without challenges. Today, however, Leorio finds himself smiling in spite of the grueling work.

The surgery was successful. His patient, a young boy, will live.

It hasn’t been long since Leorio began working at the hospital in Yorknew. He’s wanted to help as many people as possible, and settling in an urban area, at least temporarily, seems like the best course to take. This residency is set to last a year before Leorio relocates to a different region, and though the work here is fast-paced and demanding, he doesn’t regret taking the opportunity. It’s all part of the process. One day, because of these experiences, he knows he will be able to make a bigger difference. He clings to this belief each day. No matter where he is and no matter what the circumstances, Leorio only wants to help those in need. And here, he has been trusted with the authority to do so.

When Leorio emerges from the staff bathroom, a man in scrubs nearly shoulders him in his haste. He doesn’t turn to apologize, just quickens his pace to catch up to a small crowd of others before veering to the left down a hallway. Leorio doesn’t take the jostling personally—in earlier years, his lack of sleep and irritation might have culminated in an outburst with thrown punches—and finds he has little time to consider what the rush had been. 

Shouts rise from the elevators as a band of nurses and doctors wheel a man through the lobby. He is restrained with thick bands that pull taunt against his struggling limbs. He grinds his teeth and growls, moaning and screaming as he fights to free himself. In the quick glimpses Leorio steals before the man disappears into an empty room, he notices how the man’s eyes appear glazed, how his flesh is mottled and graying, and how fresh smears of blood coat his mouth and neck, staining the collar of his shirt.

The hospital staff is not quite stunned into silence, but there is an unspoken dread and recognition that sours the air. This is something new. This is something terrifying. They all can tell with one look that these are truths, but no one dares say it aloud.

“Dr. Paladiknight!” a nurse cries, appearing from the room where the man had been taken. Her face is drained of color, and her eyes dart between the interior of the room and him. “We need you.”

Leorio’s exhaustion has not subsided, but the slight uptick in his pulse, spiked by an unknowing and unnameable dread, shoves aside all thoughts of rest. He nods, snagging a pair of gloves from a nearby cart, and jogs into the room.

This will be the first documented case in his hospital. Within hours, they have increased tenfold. The halls are filled with the sound of harrowing moans, of gnashing teeth and grunts of effort as attempts to restrain and pacify these new patients become more difficult.

They do not listen to reason. They show no signs of comprehension.  They have no pulse.

Brain scans show limited activity; most prominently, the hypothalamus appears to be active in every patient, its small but distinguishable shape illuminated like an exit sign in the darkness.

This information, along with the frequent observation of patients drooling, their saliva pink and frothy, suggests that they are acting on impulse and one of the basest human desires: hunger.

Leorio confines himself to the break room after examining a dozen of the patients. This is his temporary refuge. It is a place for minimal rest and solitude. His hands are trembling, and he clasps them as tightly as he can in an effort to keep them still. While the hospital remains operational and the staff continues to work towards containing the new patients while treating others, there is something strange and foreboding about the development.

Shortly after the influx begins, hospital administrators receive word that other hospitals outside of the city have experienced similar cases. This worsens the feelings of anxiety that already lurk among the staff. These are not isolated incidents. This is a threat. And until diagnoses are issued and treatment is proven effective, it will only get worse.

* * *

The days that follow are nightmarish. Leorio has never experienced exhaustion like this. He runs on stale coffee, energy pills, nicotine patches, and adrenaline. If asked to recount his shifts, his mind falls blank, fading to static. Then, in pieces, he remembers.

He recalls the woman dressed in formal attire whose dress bore jagged tears revealing torn and mottled flesh, her eyes wide and bloodshot as she lurched against her restraints, that sickening sound of her shoulder dislocating with a resounding  _ pop _ .

There was a man who wandered into the emergency room, back hunched and fingers curled into claws, who launched himself at the security guard by the doors. A nurse had raced toward him with a syringe, hoping to medically subdue him even without physical restraints, but she lost her nerve when the stranger turned toward her, blood dripping down his face as he released the unconscious guard, limp and mangled. It had taken several more guards to pin the man down, and not once did he relent, flailing his limbs and striking at whoever was within reach.

With a pang, Leorio remembers the girl, small and thin, whose face had contorted into a snarl when he tried to detect her pulse. She’d snapped at him, teeth clacking together when she missed, and howled so shrilly, the skin along his arms had puckered. Her eyes had glittered in the fluorescent lights, jaundiced whites littered with splotches of red.

Now, when Leorio closes his eyes, he sees hers, swimming brightly in the darkness.

There are others, so many whose names and faces blur in his memory, but he tries to remember pieces of them all, if only to preserve them for a little while longer, and to keep that ache in his chest strong. Shop clerks, chefs, professors, students, grandparents, siblings, nen teachers, mafiosos, and more. The condition is indiscriminate. Sooner or later, he reasons, he will face a patient who he knows, who he loves, and he can only imagine the pain that will bring.

In the break room, Leorio keeps the lights off and rests his face in his hand. When he exhales, the breath feels ragged, shuddering through his chest. Much like the other members of the hospital staff, he feels as though he hasn’t had a real moment’s rest since it began. It’s been days, but the rate of forced adaptation makes the lapse of time feel much longer. Leorio tries to avoid looking in the mirror. All he sees is some haggard version of himself, unshaven and grimy, with a gaze that lacks emotion.

Even so, he continues. It doesn’t matter that one wing of the hospital has had to be repurposed for quarantining these new patients. It doesn’t matter that the media is beginning to obsess over the appearance of some unidentified novel contagion. It doesn’t matter how tired he and his coworkers feel.

Someone has to keep moving. Leorio knows, with a deep and silent dread, that if anyone falters, they might all crumble in the wake.

* * *

By week two of the contagion’s spread, the hospital is failing. The wing dedicated to the violent, bloodthirsty patients is overflowing, and staff have collectively decided to bar passage to and from the area. The doors are heavy and open only when presented with an approved ID, but there is still concern about what might happen if the patients make a decision to surge toward the exit together. Some lone patients who managed to chew through their bonds have left bloody handprints on the wire glass from when they smashed their palms against the surface so forcefully, their skin split. 

For the nurses who witnessed this, it was said to be horrific, how they continued pounding at the door even after they sustained injuries, as though they couldn’t feel pain, or as though it didn’t bother them at all.

Leorio often finds himself standing near the barricade, watching for movement through the metal legs of stacked chairs and tables. Only once has he seen anything beyond the stained glass: an eye, haloed by stringy dark hair, dark iris swallowed by yellow. Upon seeing him, the patient roared, throwing back their head and baring their teeth before smashing their forehead against the glass.

He shakes his head. The wing is far from him now, out of sight and well beyond the range for sounds to reach him. In this ward, business proceeds almost as usual. Some beds sit in the hallways to accommodate patient needs, but the staff carry on their tasks as normal, never sparing a moment to glance in the direction of that begotten wing, never making any obvious indication that things are amiss. When new patients present with the same symptoms, they are quickly transported. Out of sight, out of mind has become a necessary ideology.

The cacophony of miscellaneous sounds, curated by the machines that preserve and maintain life, is almost soothing. Here, surrounded by noise, Leorio finds it easier to avoid thinking. If he gives himself the opportunity to slow down, to consider what is happening, he knows he will struggle to cope with the cruelty, the horror, of it all.

* * *

For a few days, the number of new cases plateaus. There is a subtle sigh of collective relief among the hospital staff as they consider the potential for a return to normalcy. Many of them have forgotten, or chosen to neglect, the barricaded wing. Some have decided that the condition is incurable, that it is better to let those patients die in isolation than attempt to engage with them again.

It is unthinkable and immoral. Leorio lashes out when he overhears these conversations, no matter how muffled they may be. There is so little he can do now but carry on, but he refuses to embrace helplessness and defeat. No matter what, he knows that abandoning those patients to slowly succumb to death is not the answer, but at the same time, he knows that there may not be an answer at all. 

And then, during this period, the rumors start.

They are whispered among the conversations of despair and dismay, exchanged as conspiracy at first before solidifying into something more tangible. Then, Leorio hears that word,  _ zombie _ , and has to laugh.

He stops when he finds himself observing the patients through security footage, monitoring their vitals remotely, and recognizing that the patterns he had initially documented had not been mistakes. Save for that small sliver of activity in the brain, these patients are veritably dead.

And yet, they live. They move. They hunger.

And they are growing restless.

* * *

A new patient in the hospital displays symptoms. Staff members tie her down to a cot and begin to wheel her to a new wing, another one isolated and rapidly filling up with detained patients. But the work is hasty, and she is stronger than she looks.

With a swift lurch of her torso, she wrenches the restraint loose and sinks her teeth into the wrist of a nurse who is struggling to hold her down. The nurse screams, slamming her free palm into the patient’s face in a desperate effort to deter her. Blood wells up around the woman’s teeth, spurting onto the bedsheets and uniforms and faces, and the nurse takes a clumsy step backward as more aids attempt to separate them.

The woman is subdued through additional restraints. Someone ties a crude gag around her face, muffling her growls, the cloth turning pink as it absorbs the lingering blood around her lips.

Tending to the injured nurse proves to be difficult. The woman has torn off some of her flesh. The wound is deep, bearing torn tendons and gushing veins amidst the raw red of her musculature. And as another aide tends to her, keeping her still and attempting to sterilize the injury, the nurse shudders, then coughs. The sound is violent and wet. Blood flies from her lips as she curls inward, her shoulders heaving.

There are cries for help, for expertise. The response is too slow.

Swaying, the woman straightens, blood dribbling down her chin. A small red bubble appears at the corner of her lips, and when she shifts her gaze to the aide, she is different. Dull. Lethargic. Hungry.

Fewer than five minutes have passed, and that nurse is no longer herself.

She lurches, mouth opened wide and bloody teeth bared. It is by sheer luck she misses. The aide shrieks. A security guard tackles the nurse and pins her beneath him. According to witnesses, she writhes and claws at the tile until her fingernails crack and bleed, her yowl like a keening animal, famished and primal, no semblance of her former self to be seen.

* * *

A month since it began, and Leorio is on the street. He looks up at the hospital. Smoke plumes from the initial barred wing. He ignores the sinking feeling in his stomach and withdraws his phone.

His fingers shake as he types out a message.  _ Everyone, meet me at Whale Island. Should be the safest place rn. Just trust me. _

There are three recipients. They are all he can think of. To Killua, he adds, “ _ Bring your sister. Big things are happening. Not good. _

The smoke burns his nose, and he backs onto the sidewalk, shielding his face with his elbow. Sirens wail in the distance. A small crowd has begun to gather near the hospital, peering up at the smoke and taking pictures. Leorio fights the raw urge to yell at them, to tell them to run and get as far away as possible.

The fire is electrical in origin. It has consumed most of the western wing. So far, no casualties have been documented. This is all that is known to the public. It has not been revealed that the patients within that wing are infected, that it is believed by hospital staff that the fire is their doing, and that they may have, as a result of the emergency, found a path to escape.

Leorio begins to walk away, turning his back on the hospital as he dials a well-known number. His feet move quickly. He raises his phone to hear it ringing. Almost comically, it stops, and instead of the voicemail he’s had memorized for years, he hears a soft, groggy voice on the other end.

“Leorio?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Leorio says, the words rushing out before he can stop them. “ _ Now _ you pick up.”

Kurapika grumbles something unintelligible before sighing. “Did you call just to yell, or can I go back to sleep?”

“No, don’t do that. Where are you?” Leorio says, his chest tightening. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter. Meet me on Whale Island as soon as possible. Today. Tomorrow at the latest.”

Leorio can’t tell if it’s his words or his tone that lures Kurapika from his bleariness, but he supposes it doesn’t matter. When Kurapika speaks again, he sounds lucid, focused. “What are you talking about? Why?”

“God, Kurapika, haven’t you been paying attention at all?”

“I’ve been busy.”

Leorio swallows. He pauses at a street corner as the light flashes yellow. His apartment lies just a block ahead, on the right, nestled between a restaurant and a pawn shop. He focuses on this destination, convincing himself that this distance is all that stands between him and a chance at survival. “I don’t know exactly what’s happening, but I know it’s dangerous, and I think we’ll have a better chance at handling it if we’re all together.”

“Ah, you contacted them, too.”

“Of course,” Leorio says. His voice wavers as he steps into the street. “I just want to keep you all safe.”

Kurapika is quiet. This is not unusual, but it does little to soothe Leorio’s nerves. He fumbles for his keys and hears someone scream in the distance. As he jams the key in the lock, he convinces himself it is his imagination, or some unrelated incident. When he is inside his apartment, Leorio cannot keep himself standing, and he slides to the floor, his back against the door. 

“Okay,” Kurapika finally says. “I’ll get my things.”

Leorio heaves a sigh of relief. “Good. Good. Thank you.”

He can almost hear a note of concern in Kurapika’s voice. “I don’t really know what’s going on, but be careful, all right?”

Leorio brings a hand to his face and laughs. He doesn’t know if it’s exhaustion or disbelief or hope that summons the sound and decides he doesn’t care. “I’ll try. See you soon.”

* * *

On Whale Island, little has changed. There are travel restrictions in place, but for the most part, the island is self-sufficient.

Gon welcomes Leorio eagerly, bright-eyed and beaming. He takes Leorio’s hand and tugs, trying to give him a tour, but Leorio insists they wait for the others to arrive before doing anything. Thankfully, they appear before day’s end, pulling into the narrow harbor just before dusk, expressions solemn.

Leorio explains quickly. He’s brought documents to illustrate the reality—the unreleased version—and shares his fears: the worst is yet to come.

“And what do you propose we do?” Kurapika finally asks. He is still dressed in fine clothing, a black suit with minimal wrinkles despite the tumultuous journey. “Do you think we can  _ stop _ this?”

“Of course not,” Leorio says. He falters, his eyes falling to the sand, but he recovers quickly. “I wanted to give us all the greatest chance at survival. We’re better together.”

“Is that all?” Killua asks, earning a sour look from his sister. 

Leorio sighs, looking out toward the sea. “I thought we could try and help people, too. A lot of them are gonna be affected by this, and it’s going to spread very quickly. It probably already has. If we can let people know ahead of time or help them get supplies or provide medical aid—”

“You really are kind,” Gon says, tilting his head. “Do you really think we can do all that?”

“I do,” Leorio says before he can succumb to self-doubt. “Well, I don’t know how much good we can do, but I want to try. And maybe, once things die down a bit, we can try to find others, visit the Hunter Association HQ, see what the Zodiacs are doing if they’re… still there.”

Kurapika crosses his arms. “All I’m hearing is that you don’t really have a plan.”

Swallowing, Leorio faces Kurapika directly. “You’re right. I don’t. I just know that this is what my gut says we should do. Are you with me?”

For several lingering moments of pensive silence, Kurapika stares into Leorio’s eyes, his gaze steady. Finally, with a defeated sigh, Kurapika lets his arms fall to his sides. “Fine. My contract’s up anyway, and I suppose, if what you’re saying is true—”

“It is.”

“—I won’t have many opportunities for good work in the near future,” Kurapika finishes. Then, more softly, he adds. “I’ll go with you. Just like old times.”

“Me, too!” Gon says, raising a hand in the air. “I’ve been itching to get off this island, but Aunt Mito keeps telling me to stay put.”

Leorio holds up both hands, palms out. “So long as you understand that this isn’t a game or anything…”

“He knows,” Killua says with absolute certainty. “We’ve dealt with weird shit before, Leorio. Don’t worry; we’ll keep you safe.”

Sputtering, Leorio finds himself the subject of laughter and realizes he hasn’t heard that sound in weeks. He simmers, a smile curling his lips, and sighs. “Fine. Think, say, do whatever you want. Gon, think we can stay here for a few days to prepare?”

When his eyes light up, Gon bounces on his heels. “We’ll have to make room, but I’m sure Aunt Mito won’t mind.”

“You should check with her first before making any promises,” Leorio warns. “I would rather not piss her off.”

Gon dismisses Leorio’s concern and scampers up toward his home, waving for the others to follow. Killua leads Alluka by the hand, casually pointing out island features, and Leorio lags behind, keeping pace with Kurapika.

“So,” Leorio says. “Guess you’ve been busy.”

“I have been.”

“Would’ve been nice to hear from you.”

“My phone was broken.”

“For two years?”

“Not the whole time,” Kurapika says thoughtfully. “But then the new one was always on silent.”

With a shake of his head, Leorio looks straight ahead. “Well, I’m glad you’re alive. That’s really all I wanted to know.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Leorio sees Kurapika nod, the motion slight and almost diminutive. They continue up the hill, knuckles nearly grazing, in silence until Kurapika clears his throat.

“I, uh, got your voicemails,” Kurapika says. “And your texts. I want you to know that I appreciated your incredible degree of concern for me.”

Leorio’s cheeks grow flushed, and he jerks his head to the side so that Kurapika can’t see. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was just lonely.”

Kurapika’s laugh is soft and delicate as bells, and it compels Leorio to sneak a peek. The smile Kurapika bears is small but pleasant. Before Leorio can say something else, Kurapika catches his fingers with his own, his touch light, tentative. Leorio decides to hold his tongue and reciprocates the gesture, curling his hand fully around Kurapika’s without another word.

* * *

Mito doesn’t take Gon’s decision well, but when Gon makes up his mind, he’s difficult to fight. As much as Mito clearly opposes such a dangerous journey, it appears to Leorio that she’s aware of the futility of her arguments. That doesn’t stop her from interjecting her opinion whenever possible, and Leorio finds he respects her determination.

“You realize how foolish this is, don’t you?” she says. It is the morning before their departure. She has prepared a rather lovely, if rustic, spread of food, which Gon and Killua eagerly consume. “You don’t even know what it’s like out there or how dangerous it really is.”

Gon blinks, unperturbed. “That’s how it was when we went to NGL,” he says innocently. “At least this time we’ll know where we’re going.”

With a huff, Mito plants a hand on her hip and leans over the table. “Do you remember what happened that last time, Gon? You nearly died. I could have lost you.”

He meets her gaze and smiles brightly. “But I got better!”

She sinks into her chair and buries her face in her hands. “I thought I raised you better. But then you had to go off and become a Hunter, and now you’ve convinced yourself that this is what you have to do, risking your life for nothing.”

“It’s not for nothing, Aunt Mito,” Gon says. “We’re going to help people like Hunters are supposed to. Isn’t that good?”

She bites her tongue as though cornered before recovering. “What about Ging? It’s hard to imagine he’s out there risking his neck for anything but his own ego.”

“Wherever he is,” Gon says, “I’m sure he has a good reason.”

Throwing her hands limply into the air, Mito sinks back into her seat and shakes her head, lifting her face to the ceiling. “All right. You win. I give up. You have my blessing.”

Gon continues devouring his breakfast as though nothing has changed, but he swings his feet beneath the table, swaying slightly as he grins around each bite.

When it comes time to leave, they heft their belongings—along with a veritable surplus of supplies courtesy of Mito and the other friendly villagers—to the docks and onto a boat headed for the mainland. Mito stands on the pier, hands clasped at her waist, her expression deliberately solemn. Gon gives her a tight hug before bounding onto the ship, and Mito’s hands hover where his shoulders had been for a moment before sinking to her sides.

As the ship’s crew begins to bustle about and they rescind the anchor, Mito takes a few desperate steps forward and cups her hands around her mouth. “Gon, you come back in one piece, you hear me?”

Gon grins, leaning over the stern to wave goodbye.

But his silence seems to heighten her panic as she raises her voice. “Promise me!”

Obediently, Gon fills his lungs and responds with a promise loud enough for the whole island to hear. By the time he settles, Leorio can no longer see Mito on the docks, just the bobbing shapes of ships along the shore adjacent to the distinct island shape.

He sits against the ship’s wall and considers the nostalgia of it all, how bright the sky is and was, how the unknown is all that is ever certain when they are all together. And in spite of himself, Leorio smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always encouraged and appreciated ^-^


	3. Chapter 3

_ Present _

A few days have passed since settling in the shed, and it is time to move on. Getting comfortable is easy. The quietude of natural surroundings, of lapses in chaos and fear, can lull them into an illusion of peace and security. Remembering that forward progression is essential for survival, that a moving target is less likely to be hunted, can be challenging, but Leorio repeats the sentiment in his head each night before he lays down to rest.

Death is a certainty. At this point, delaying the inevitable is the best they can do. Staying alive and staying together for as long as possible are the priorities.

Shortly after dawn, Leorio begins to pack up their supplies, taking silent inventory of what they have left. In terms of food, they are struggling, but that is a given. A sleeve of stale crackers, a few cans of various goods, a small handful of scavenged berries, and a bag of small, delicate mushrooms Gon found by the river is all that is left of their edible resources. Leorio has been stingy with their medical supplies. Still, they are down to a few bandages, some gauze, five anti-inflammatory pills, and the remnants of a tube of antibacterial ointment, coiled up to make use of what little clings to the inner walls.

But there is still a bar of soap left, as well as spare cloth, some worn tools, and a well-read survival guide Gon’s aunt slyly stuffed inside his bag before they left the island. Almost every day, Leorio sends a silent prayer of thanks to that woman for entrusting Gon and his invaluable skills to the ragtag team of Hunters and for doing what she could to ensure they weren’t heading into the apocalypse blind.

By the time Kurapika wakes, Leorio has nearly finished packing. The task doesn’t take long, admittedly, but Kurapika still scowls as he stretches. “Why do you insist on doing it all by yourself?”

Leorio shrugs. “Gotta keep myself busy somehow. It’s not like I can just go back to sleep.”

“Why not?”   
  


“The nights are long,” Leorio says, almost wistfully. “I don’t want to miss the morning.”

Kurapika rolls his eyes. “Are you trying to be poetic?”

Frowning, Leorio draws tight the strings of the bag he holds before tying them in a knot. “I was  _ trying _ to be honest.”

“Well, it’s a nice sentiment,” Kurapika says, standing only to cross to Leorio’s side and draping his arms around Leorio’s neck from behind. “I’d prefer it if you woke me next time. At the very least, you could share the mornings with me. We may only get so many.”

“Gross,” Killua chirps. “Take it outside.”

Leorio sucks in a breath to fuel his retort, but Gon, ever-stealthy and undetectable, launches himself into Killua’s chest before Leorio can speak. The tackle knocks the air from Killua’s lungs, and though Alluka raises her hands to her face in shock, her laughter is clear. Having pinned Killua on his back, Gon sits up and sighs.

“Killua, you shouldn’t be so rude,” Gon admonishes, shaking his head. “You sound really bitter. And a little jealous.”

Killua, apparently recovered, sputters. “I am  _ not  _ jealous, Gon.”

Leorio claps his hands once, having disentangled himself from Kurapika’s light hold, and draws the group’s attention. “Let’s just leave this matter unsettled. It doesn’t matter if Killua is feeling starved for love and affection—”

“I’m  _ not _ ! What is wrong with all of you?”

“—but what  _ is  _ important is that we get going soon,” Leorio finishes, sparing a smirk in Killua’s direction, much to his irritation. “We need to head into town. It could be a difficult day.”

Almost at once, Gon and Killua sober. Gon crawls off of Killua’s stomach and sits formally beside him. When they find shelter, however temporary, they allow themselves to embrace the solace and escape from reality. But they know, too, that such things are short-lived. Venturing closer to civilization means higher risks. All of them understand how vigilant and careful they must be.

They gather up the rest of their supplies in silence. It isn’t just the desperate need for supplies or the threat of zombie attacks that puts them on edge. Entering into areas that were once more populated means that the chances of encountering other survivors is likely. Some are friendly, just passing through like they are. Others, not so much. The apocalypse, as it is, tends to bring out the worst in a considerable number of people. This is what scares Leorio the most.

Still, they’ve been lucky so far, but Leorio doesn’t want to count on luck to keep them safe. There isn’t enough luck in the world to ensure their survival, but that just motivates Leorio to find ways to mold fate with his own two hands, shape it into something palatable.

He hefts a bag onto his shoulder and stands near the door, one hand pressed flat against the boards. Turning to the others, he finds that they are watching him, their eyes dim and focused. Swallowing, Leorio fights to remember that they are still kids, the whole lot of them, and that this world is not kind to anyone, not even children, not even those who have struggled enough already.

“Let’s go.” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just throws open the door to let the morning light in.

* * *

By the time they descend the small mountain, midday is upon them. At the base of the incline, a dirt road carves through the forest, bleeding into pavement that directs them toward the nearest town. Kurapika consults their map, marking off their progress as he confirms they are moving in the right direction. On foot, at a moderate pace to conserve energy, they should reach the Hunter’s Association within a few weeks.

Their current destination is a small inland town that none of them had visited prior to the epidemic. It consists of a main street packed with small businesses, now-shuttered, as well as a few side streets that contain residential buildings. When the group approaches the town’s border, all is quiet, save for the shrill notes of wind as it passes them.

They are ready for a fight. Leorio has drawn his switchblade and leads the group, having insisted on this position whenever they enter new territory. His height, he claims, gives him an advantage when it comes to spotting threats, but he mostly wants to make sure he is the first member of their group seen to give the others a chance to flee.

Kurapika follows in Leorio’s stead, his dual bokken drawn and held near his chest. He trusts his intuition to alert him should anything approach the others who tread behind him. With Alluka in tow, Killua maintains a moderate pace, his gaze cold yet lively. He considers himself to be a weapon, but before venturing into unknown territory, he is sure to press a small, sharp knife into Alluka’s palm, hoping she won’t need to use it but feeling better that she has it nonetheless. Bringing up the rear is Gon, who carries the least amount of tension in his stride.

He has just released a strange, warbling cry into the air, taking care to keep his voice low. Alluka giggles before naming a beast, leading to a short burst of applause from Gon. “You’re amazing, Alluka! Now, it’s your turn.”

“Alright… tell me a story about a tanuki.” Alluka hums as she speaks, as though deep in thought. She spares a glance backward at Gon, flashing a sweet and cunning grin. “In space.”   
  


Gon audibly groans. “I don’t know anything about space. It’s up there, and that’s where stars are. That won’t be a good story. Killua?”

With a flourish of his free hand, Killua smirks. “Naturally, I can supply you with whatever information you need. Want the stars that make up the constellation of Taurus? I’m your guy.”

Gon’s grin is evident in his reply. “I can always count on you, Killua.”

“Sh-shut up.”

“Start the story already,” Alluka says.

Gon clears his throat and elongates his strides, throwing his arms out to either side before crying out. “Ladies and gentlemen—”

“I don’t want to ruin your fun,” Leorio says without turning his head, “but remember to keep your voices down. They’re sensitive to sound.”

_ Though they’re  _ more _ sensitive to smells _ , Leorio doesn’t say, absently sniffing his armpit and grimacing. Wherever they camp next, he plans to encourage them all to wash their clothes. Dirt, grime, sweat, and blood tend to linger. He is keenly focused on their surroundings. At times, he wishes he could allow the kids to play without worry, but he also knows that doing so will only put them all in more danger. And while it isn’t exactly the case that the kids are weak and vulnerable, Leorio still doesn’t want to see them get hurt. 

Alluka’s laughter lifts up into the air once again before the sound is muffled, presumably by her own hands. Leorio smiles, distracted, before directing his attention forward once more.

Gon and Alluka have created a few games for these situations. While walking in the established formation, Gon may attempt to imitate animal noises, prompting Alluka to guess at which creature he is impersonating; as time has passed, Gon has taken to inventing animals, much to Alluka’s surprising delight. Another game features Alluka’s imagination, as well as Killua’s cooperation, and it hinges on improvisation and storytelling. 

At first, Leorio disapproved of such behavior, citing it as “childish” and “inappropriate” and even “recklessly dangerous,” but it didn’t take long for him to come around. Children need distractions as well as opportunities for laughter. And if it makes the journey easier, he finds that he doesn’t mind it all that much.

“Wait.” Kurapika has caught up to Leorio and dropped into a crouch, his head slightly tilted. “I think I heard movement.”

As soon as Kurapika says this, the atmosphere shifts. Leorio tightens his grip on his switchblade and scans the alleys ahead while Killua extends a hand, keeping Alluka snugly between himself and Gon.

Leorio nods, giving Kurapika the go-ahead to proceed. They’ve been through this before with mixed results. On one occasion, the noise had been a stray cat, its ribs sharp against its skin as it scoured empty trash bins for rotten scraps. Another time, they’d found a lone zombie, already incapacitated and tied to a chainlink fence. Its eyes had been sallow and sunken, and in its hollow gaze, Leorio saw hunger as well as pain. Before they left that town, they made sure to put them out of their misery.

Whatever the source, a noise in an otherwise quiet location is reason for wariness. Kurapika creeps forward, his steps slow and meticulous. Aside from the soft crunch of sediment beneath his shoes and the low whistle of wind above, there is nothing.

Something shifts the dirt out of sight, just behind a pillaged dumpster, and Kurapika lowers his shoulders in anticipation. Judging by the volume of the movement, Leorio reasons the source could easily be something small and insignificant—a stray cat searching for food; a bird taking flight; a breeze stirring up loose soil. But there is always a chance, he reminds himself, that there is someone or something lurking around the corner, bearing knives or teeth or ill-intent, and that it pays to ready oneself for the kill.

At once, Kurapika surges forward, his feet barely touching the dirt as he moves, and he slides at the alley’s opening before veering into the darkness. The hollow sound of his bokkan connecting with something solid—stone, flesh, bone, Leorio can’t tell—and a sharp cry sends the group running.

In the shadows, Kurapika stands firm, his weapons crossed over the chest of a young man dressed in a white uniform, mottled brown and threadbare in places. Both of them breathe steadily, but the contained individual has his hands raised in surrender. When he lifts his head, his thick brows are furrowed, and there is a glint in his eyes that suggests, despite his open gesture, he does not give in willingly. The glint dulls as he scans their faces, a slack expression taking over weighing down his features. There is recognition there, in the gloss of his eyes and the parting of his lips.

Gon steps forward before anyone else can speak. He tilts his head, bearing a tentative smile. “Zushi?”

With a nod, Zushi returns the smile, though it is not nearly as bright as it once was. “Hey, Gon, Killua. It’s been a while.”

* * *

Once Gon explains, with a brief interjection from Killua, that Zushi is an old friend, Kurapika lowers his guard and sheathes his bokkan, keeping a wary eye on the newcomer nonetheless. Zushi doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, after stretching his neck, he waves for them all to follow him.

He leads them to a room on the second floor of an abandoned building. Boards cover most of the windows, but narrow beams of light still wander in, highlighting the cloud of dust and dirt that rises as the group enters. The room is littered with debris, and stacks of canned goods, cardboard boxes, and miscellaneous materials line the walls. Zushi plops down, legs crossed, beneath the window, sunlight pooling atop his head. He doesn’t instruct the others to follow suit, but Gon eagerly sits across from him, a rare, enthusiastic look in his eyes.

“You’re the first ones I’ve seen in weeks,” Zushi finally says. His voice is level, his lips are taut, but there is a hollowness to his tone that makes Leorio uneasy. “But you picked a good place to stop. Zombies haven’t paid much mind to the small towns. They pass through, slaughter the ones they catch, and move on. So if you need rest, this is where you get it. And you’re welcome to take anything you need. I’ve got another room stocked with supplies. Some of it’s probably gone bad by now, but I’d like you to take what you want.”

“How long have you been here?” Killua asks. He stands, clutching Alluka’s hand in his.

Zushi looks up at the ceiling. “A month or two? It’s hard to keep track.”

“And are you just planning to wait this out here?” Killua continues. “Zushi, you’re gonna run out of food sooner or later.”

A wide, knowing smile crosses Zushi’s lips. “I know. I’m just waiting for someone. And once he finds me, we’ll move on together.”

Gon pinches his brows together in thought. “Who?”

“Wing-san, of course.”

At the mention of his name, Leorio feels a sharp stab of memory prick his mind. He stands a little straighter, clenching his fists and sucking in a slow, shallow breath.

Wing. Leorio had briefly recognized him in the hospital, having worked with him for a short time to keep Gon safe during the election, but the stretcher had breezed by him, his case assigned to some other doctor. Despite only getting a quick glimpse as he tossed his gloves, Leorio had known. By then, the signs had become obvious, glaringly and mockingly so. Wing had lost all gentility, all composure. He was a frothing, starving mess, unrecognizable.

Kurapika places a hand on Leorio’s shoulder and brings him back to the present. The look in his eyes is soft but pressing. Leorio shakes his head once before mouthing the word  _ later _ and directing his attention back to Zushi.

“I’ve left a bunch of clues,” Zushi says, looking bright and eager in spite of his obvious fatigue. “All over the place. Things only Wing-san would notice. He was in Yorknew when it happened, you know, so I bet he just got out of there as soon as he could. That’d be just like Wing-san.”

Gon nods, his whole body bouncing with the motion. “And I’m sure he’s still looking for you, Zushi! He’d want to find you. But it’s tough to travel, even in a group like this. So he probably has to go slow.”

Sagely, Zushi agrees. “Exactly. And it’ll be easier for him to find me if I stay in one place, right? So that’s what I’m doing. I practice nen every day so when I see him again, he’ll be proud of me!”

“He’d be proud of you either way,” Leorio blurts. When all eyes turn to him, he grips the back of his neck and looks away. “I only met the guy once, but that’s the vibe I got.”

When Zushi offers a grateful smile, Leorio fights the churn of his stomach and swallows the rise of guilt in his throat. He doesn’t want to lie and finds the idea of leaving Zushi with false hope repulsive. At the same time, his skin crawls at the thought of telling him now, when they’ve just reunited, when the world is tumultuous and strange. Even if Gon and Killua know him from the past, it’s different now. He’s been on his own. He’s had to survive on his own. And that, they all know, can change a person.

Leorio clears his throat. “Since we’re all together, why don’t have dinner together before we gather some supplies? It’ll be nice to relax a little.”

Alluka beams. “Really? We can?”

Sparing a glance at the others, Leorio receives nods of approval from everyone but Kurapika whose subtle scowl does little to intimidate him. He ignores Kurapika’s pointed expression and leans down to pat Alluka’s head. “You bet.”

Zushi rises fluidly to his feet. “There isn’t much in the way of vegetables, but the hills have plenty of edible plants.”

“What about meat?” Killua says, raising an eyebrow.

“Rabbits, pigeons. Small stuff but good if you get it right,” Zushi says.

Gon grins. “You’ve really learned a lot out here! I didn’t think you had any experience in the outdoors.”

“I didn’t,” Zushi says, rifling through the stacks of supplies to locate fire starters and skewers and cooking utensils that had been hidden away. “But I wanted to survive. I didn’t have any other choice.”

Leorio feels the atmosphere sink around him, pressing down on his shoulders, but he tries to hide it even as Kurapika’s eyes bore into him. When Zushi passes them, leading Gon, Killua, and Alluka up toward the roof, Kurapika seizes Leorio’s wrist before he can follow.

“What is it?” Kurapika says. “What’s wrong?”

There’s no sense in lying, Leorio knows that, but the urge to swallow the truth flares in that moment, so intense he nearly complies. Instead, he heaves a sigh and licks his lips. “It’s about that kid’s teacher. Wing.”

Kurapika’s expression darkens, and he dips his chin, lowering his voice. “What about him, Leorio? Just spit it out.”

“He’s already gone,” Leorio says, the words hissing through his teeth. “I mean, I don’t know if he’s  _ dead _ , but he was infected near the start. I saw him.”

Dropping Leorio’s hand, Kurapika takes a step back. “And you didn’t mention this before because…?”

Leorio bites down on his tongue so hard that, in retrospect, he wonders how he didn’t taste blood. “Honestly? I forgot. It was a while ago, and a lot has happened since then. I only remembered when Zushi said his name. Sure, it’s terrible, I’m awful for forgetting about it, but—”

“No,” Kurapika says softly. “You’re not. You’ve been through a lot since then. We all have.”

“Yeah,” Leorio says. “I’m gonna tell him eventually, but I figured it might be best to wait a little longer. Is that selfish?”

Kurapika shrugs. “Maybe a little.”

“I just don’t want to ruin their reunion,” Leorio says. A miserable knot of guilt and despair forms beneath his ribs, and he rejects the urge to groan in response to it. “Give them all a sense of peace and normalcy before everything goes to shit again, you know?”

“I’d call that kindness,” Kurapika says, gently taking one of Leorio’s hands in both of his, “not selfishness. Though I suppose it’s a little bit of both.”

Leorio rubs his thumb against Kurapika’s fingers and smiles. “That’s fine. That’s good enough for me.”

As they stand there, smiling softly, Gon’s voice reaches them from a distance, echoing off the walls of the halls and stairwell. “Leorio! Kurapika! Give us a hand, won’t you?”

Immediately after, Killua speaks up. “If you don’t help, you don’t get to eat. That was  _ your _ rule.”

With a grunt, Leorio rolls back his shoulders before turning to Kurapika again. “Try to keep me from pummeling that brat.”

Laughing, he bolts up the stairs, Kurapika scrambling after him. They emerge on the roof, bathed in summer sunlight, where a fire is already burning, filling the air with rich scents of wood and moss and smoke. 

* * *

When the sun sets, a chill sinks in like frost creeping across glass. Killua, Gon, and Alluka huddle together, hands clasped, their shoulders faintly shuddering beneath the blanket Leorio casually tossed over them. Kurapika has spent most of the evening staring off in the direction of their goal, a wistful and serious expression clouding his eyes. Leorio doesn’t dare interrupt him. One day, he hopes, they will all have an opportunity to relax, to share each other’s warmth when it isn’t just necessary, to smile and laugh without that underlying sensation of dread that burrows its claws in their guts and twists until silence falls.

Leorio shakes his head and stares at the fire, poking at the embers with a metal rod Zushi scavenged on his travels. Across the flames, Zushi watches him, red and orange flashing in the sheen of his eyes. When Leorio lifts his head to meet his gaze, Zushi smiles and crouches down, looking deep into the core of the fire. Ordinarily, Leorio might consider admonishing him, making threats about his irresponsible endangerment of his eyesight, but he finds it difficult to make any sound, let alone one of criticism. Instead, he manages a tight smile before prodding the fire again, sending a deluge of glittering sparks into the air.

“Where are you all headed?” Zushi asks. When Leorio looks up again, Zushi’s eyes bore into his own, alive with firelight. “You’ve got to have a destination, right?”

Leorio nods, hesitant. “We’re going to the Hunter Association HQ.”   


Zushi wrinkles his nose. “Why?”

With a shrug, Leorio lets his gaze fall back to the flames. “It seems like the best place to go right now. We don’t really have anywhere else.”

“You’ll be walking to your deaths, you know,” Zushi says. His voice is so hollow and sincere, Leorio pulls his attention back to his face and finds the expression there dark. “Urban areas. They’re hot spots.”

Leorio swallows. “I know.”

“You’re still gonna go?”

“Yeah,” he says, sparing a glance back at the others. It’s what they’ve agreed on, after all. He hasn’t thought to bring it up for discussion again, but Zushi’s insistence nearly makes him reconsider. “It’s not like the plans are in stone, though.”

Leaning back, Zushi nods. “Good. Because you might change your mind. And it’d be for the better.”

“What about you?” Leorio blurts. “You’re just gonna stay here forever?”

Zushi narrows his eyes. “Not forever. Just until Wing comes.”

“What if he doesn’t?” 

When Zushi inhales sharply through his nose, Leorio knows he should have held his tongue. Zushi rises to his feet, shoulders loose and fists swaying at his hips. With the fire at his feet, the light casts unnerving shadows up onto his face, the flames still glinting in his eyes. He plants both hands on his hips, shakes his head, and laughs. “I don’t know why you’d say something like that. But I guess that was supposed to be a joke. We have to have a dark sense of humor, don’t we?”

Leorio feels Kurapika’s eyes on him, and the message that gaze seems to convey is  _ shut up _ . But instead, Leorio steels himself, folds his legs beneath him, and bows his head so that the fire’s heat bathes his face. “I’m not trying to be funny. What I am is sorry.”

The air feels thick and dense. There is no breeze, but Leorio considers that his nerves are simply so frayed he can’t feel it. He grits his teeth and lets the silence stew until Zushi responds.

“What are you talking about?” His question is terse and pointed. There’s some sense of recognition in his tone, but it’s mostly filled with venom. “I’m not laughing, Leorio.”

Leorio closes his eyes. “Your teacher—Wing—won’t be coming to find you. He’s dead.”

Around him, the night swells with sickly silence. Killua and Gon are watching him now, too, Killua’s glare pointed and calculating, Gon’s eyes dewy with tears. Leorio looks at his hands, follows the ridge of his knuckles with his eyes in an effort to keep himself grounded, but he still feels like he’s rising, pulling apart from his body in the maddening quietude of anticipation.

“What’s wrong with you?” Zushi finally says, sounding defeated. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

Leorio shudders as he stands. The air has shifted, and unease straightens the hair on his arms. He maintains a neutral expression and speaks calmly. “I didn’t want to lie to you. And I didn’t want to see you waiting for something that wasn’t going to happen. That’ll drive you mad.”

Kurapika’s hand falls on Leorio’s arm and squeezes. “Leorio—”

“You’re lying now,” Zushi says. “Wing can’t be dead. He said he’d find me.”

“I’m sure he did,” Leorio says patiently. “But I saw him in the hospital—I’m a doctor, you know—and he had been infected. It was too late.”

Shaking his head, Zushi steps back from the fire. “He promised.”

“Look, Zushi,” Leorio says. “I know it’s hard to believe, but—”

“If you’re a doctor, why didn’t you save him?” Zushi snaps. “That’s your  _ job _ .”

For a moment, Leorio forgets to breathe. His heart hammers in his chest, rocking his body with each pulse, until he sucks in air again. When he speaks, he struggles to get the right words out. “I… There wasn’t much we could do in the way of treatment, kid. You know, we isolated the patients, we did what we could to keep them fed and safe.”

“No,” Zushi says. “I don’t believe you.”

Leorio manages a sharp laugh. “Believe it or not, it’s the truth.”

Zushi grits his teeth so hard, Leorio can hear them grinding. He fills his lungs and lifts his chin. By the time he speaks, the night feels much cooler, much emptier than before. “Get out.”

Kurapika is the first to respond. “I’m sorry if we’ve caused any offense.”

“All of you,” Zushi says. “I want you to leave.”

“It’s already late in the evening,” Kurapika protests. “Why don’t we just camp up here, and in the morning, we’ll—”

“ _ Now _ ,” Zushi snaps, pointing toward the stairwell. His hand trembles with effort, and even in the dim glow of the fire, it’s apparent that his eyes are wet. “I don’t want you here anymore.”

Gon and Killua rise, too, and their approach is more docile and patient, palms out to convey ease. They say  _ Zushi, are you okay? _ and  _ Zushi, let’s all get some rest _ . But he ignores them, his body tense and unwavering.

Kurapika glances at Leorio who nods, bending to retrieve his supplies and slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder. Soon, the others follow suit, their eyes lingering on Zushi’s stoic form. When they’ve gathered their items, Leorio looks out to the woods beyond the town limits. Existing structures are better at night for obvious reasons; they provide more protection from the elements and wildlife, and they are more easily guarded. Still, one night in the woods should be fine if they all take shifts to watch for danger.

Resolute, Leorio rolls back his shoulders and addresses Zushi directly. “I wasn’t lying to you,” he says, ignoring the way Kurapika bristles. “I wouldn’t do that. But if you choose not to believe it, that’s your decision. Thanks for the hospitality.”

With a slight bow of his head, Leorio moves past him to reach the stairs and doesn’t bother looking back. He pauses on the landing of the second floor, and Kurapika reaches him within moments.

“You’re an idiot,” Kurapika says, his voice like a hiss.

“Think we should take up his offer?” Leorio says distantly. “He said we could take what we need. Was that just when we were all friends?”

Kurapika opens his mouth as if to retort but sighs before he can manage something sharp. He shakes his head. “Probably best that we leave it alone.”

“That’s what I was thinking, too.”

“Where are we gonna sleep now, Leorio?” Gon whines, lumbering down the steps. “I was looking forward to this.”

A pang of guilt twists in Leorio’s stomach, but he swallows it with a smile. “It’ll be a campout tonight. We already had our fire, and we should have plenty of blankets to fight off the chill.”

Gon pouts but says nothing further. It’s common knowledge that Gon is accustomed to life outdoors, but that only makes Leorio feel worse when he considers how he’s stripped him of a rare opportunity to enjoy something different, more comfortable, more secure.

Rather than dwelling on it, Leorio continues down the stairs toward the main street. “No sense in wasting our time here. We’ll find a site near the edge of the woods and get some rest,” he says. “I’ll take the first watch.”

No one argues. For once, he almost wishes someone had something to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always encouraged and appreciated ^-^


	4. Chapter 4

Nestled in the crook of sturdy branches, Leorio slowly rotates his neck, trying to ease the knots from the muscles with minimal success. They’ve positioned themselves about ten feet up to grant them some advantage should an animal or zombie approach. Zombies can’t climb well, Leorio’s discovered. Whether it’s the result of deteriorating muscle tissue or a lack of cognitive function, he doesn’t yet know, but whatever the cause, they seem to be limited to less demanding activities. 

In spite of himself, Leorio yawns. Pale moonlight offers little visibility, even now that his eyes have adjusted to the darkness, but aside from the distant calls of nocturnal birds and the occasional rustle of leaves in the canopy, all seems calm and quiet. He could almost let himself fall asleep.

But then, his thoughts drift to Zushi, and he knows he won’t be able to get much rest tonight even if he tries.

Before he can allow himself to sink into thoughts of his own incompetence, he hears movement: the shift of a branch to his right, a soft exhale, the scrape of sneaker tread against bark. Leorio grips his switchblade but stays otherwise still.

From the branches above, Killua drops, landing with expert precision. Leorio nearly swears but slaps a hand over his mouth to censor himself. Still standing, Killua tucks his hands into his pockets, letting his head loll to one side as a smarmy smile snakes across his lips.

“Sup.”

Resisting the urge to swipe, Leorio heaves a sigh and shakes his head. “You weren’t very stealthy there, killer.”

“I was trying  _ not _ to scare you,” Killua says, blinking innocently. “Thought I’d give you a head’s up.”

“Yeah, right.”

Killua crosses his legs as he sits down opposite Leorio, his back to the open forest air. “I’m sure you’re wide awake now with all that adrenaline pumping—”

“You’re such a—”

“—but I figured I could take the next watch,” Killua finishes, turning away and pursing his lips. “You know, so you can get some rest, too.”

They don’t share many moments like this. Killua’s honest and generous side, however cheeky it might be, is often reserved for Gon, but around the time Killua finally remembered his name, Leorio began to receive some of Killua’s kindness, as well. 

Leorio’s expression softens, the tense muscles in his upper body relaxing from his face to his shoulders. “Thanks. But there’s no need.”

Raising an eyebrow, Killua leans back with obvious distrust. “I know you probably pulled a few all-nighters in  _ med school _ , but this is a little different, don’t you think? Don’t push yourself too much, old man.”

At this, Leorio frowns, dipping his chin to glower in Killua’s direction. “When I was working in the hospital—you know, as a  _ doctor _ —I had to work long hours almost every day. Always on my feet, always running around, saving people’s lives and all that. I’m fine.”

“That was ages ago. I can still stay awake for days at a time and function all right,” Killua says, puffing out his chest. “That’s how I was trained.”

“That isn’t something to brag about, idiot,” Leorio says, a tinge of sympathy coloring his sharp tone. He shuts his eyes for a brief moment and raises his eyebrows, unsurprised by Killua’s banter and secretly delighted by his energy. If the others can be rude to him, Leorio assumes they’re doing okay, all things considered. “The point is, I’m not going to go to sleep. So you can go back to cuddling with Gon.”

“It’s Alluka’s turn tonight,” Killua snaps before heat surges to his cheeks. “A-anyway, you really shouldn’t overdo it. What if we need your medical stuff tomorrow? Won’t be much use to us if you’re out of it.”

Leorio bites the inside of his cheek. “Look, I don’t think I’d get much sleep even if I tried. Am I tired? Of course I am. I’m human. But I keep thinking…”

Killua’s face twists into an expression of disgust and disbelief. “Are you hung up about Zushi?”

Blinking, Leorio manages a nod. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“All you did was tell him the truth, right?”

“I guess,” Leorio says. “But I did it all wrong. I don’t know if I should have said anything at all.”

For a moment, Killua’s face becomes so serious, Leorio finds himself taken aback. “I don’t think you did the wrong thing. He should know the truth. If he doesn’t want to believe it, that’s his choice, but you gave him the opportunity to make it.”

Leorio leans back against the trunk of the tree, eyes wide. “That was pretty wise, Killua.”

“If it were me,” Killua continues, “I wouldn’t have put up with those accusations. He’d be dangling over the side of the building until he apologized.”

“Killua.”

He shrugs. “What? We do things differently. That’s fine.”

“That’s not what bothers me.”

With a terse frown, Killua glares. “I wouldn’t let him  _ fall _ , Leorio. He’d just get a little lightheaded—unless he was really stubborn, I guess. At any rate, it didn’t happen, so lighten up.”

Leorio allows himself to laugh, keeping it soft. It’s strange, he thinks, how many moments like these there have been along their journey, quiet and serene, conversational, reminiscent of the ways things were. The world isn’t all bloodshed and tragedy and heartache; it’s just that, when those things do present themselves, they become the focal point, capturing attention and draining energy. It’s easy to forget the lighter moments, the kinder ones, that fall between the glimpses of madness.

Often, Leorio finds himself wanting to thank them all for trusting him and accompanying him and holding fast to their values even amidst the chaos. And when deprived of enough sleep, Leorio’s inhibitions conveniently disintegrate.

“Hey, Killua? I wanna say something.”

As he opens his mouth to acknowledge him, Killua straightens, tilting his head. “I think something’s coming our way.”

At once, Leorio sobers. He first glances towards the others who remain asleep, secured to the tree limbs with rope around their blankets. He licks his lips and nods as he faces Killua again. “When you say ‘something,’ does that mean bear or—”

Killua shakes his head. “Definitely one of them. Zombie. They move differently. They’re loud and careless.”

When Leorio strains, he detects the faintest of sounds: twigs snapping and leaves shifting underfoot, a low and guttural moan coursing through the forest like a current. “How close?”

“Fifty feet. Pretty quick.” He wrinkles his nose. “And  _ rank _ . Surprised Gon hasn’t woken up gagging yet.”

Leorio unfastens the rope around his waist and coils it before resting it in the crook of some branches. “Want to go take care of it before it gets any closer?”

For the first time in a while, Killua’s devious grin emerges, sharp and deadly. “Sounds like a plan.”

With a nod, Leorio begins to descend, clenching his blade in his mouth for quick access, and Killua nimbly darts between branches until he lands silently on a patch of soil. Once Leorio’s feet touch the earth, Killua dashes into the woods. Cursing under his breath, Leorio bolts after him, unsheathing his knife and dodging low limbs as he follows Killua’s winding path.

Killua pauses near a small clearing, flooded with moonlight, where a decaying woman sways, her hands mottled with gnarled knuckles hooked into stiff claws. When the light hits her face, Leorio notes the dullness of her eyes, the sunkenness of her cheeks, and how her lower jaw remains attached solely by two strips of flesh desperately straining between bones.

“She’s alone?” Leorio breathes, keeping his eyes on the figure. She hasn’t seemed to notice them but ambles vaguely in their direction with lumbering steps, dragging a twisted ankle behind her.

With a tight shake of his head, Killua directs Leorio’s attention to the dense layer of trees beyond the opening. “There’s one more. Aside from that, it looks like we shouldn’t have much trouble.”

“You get one, I get the other?” Leorio suggests.

Killua rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’ll get the one on the other side since you’re already out of breath.”

“I am  _ not _ ,” Leorio snaps, rising from behind the bushes.

At this disturbance, the woman swivels her head toward them, clearly noting their presence, and when she opens her mouth to let out a gravelly groan, the tendons in her face snap, her jaw bone, still decorated with fragments of flesh, falling to the earth.

“Take care of her,” Killua says, vanishing from sight.

Leorio can’t think to retort. Instead, he brandishes his knife and sinks into a defensive stance. It’s easier to handle the zombies by capitalizing on their own primal behavior, assessing how they move and advance and using that against them. This predictive style suits Leorio better anyway; he’s never been one for head-on combat—at least, not if he wants to win.

When she surges toward him, he nearly loses his balance, but this isn’t the first time he’s defended himself against a zombie. In order to do so effectively, Leorio forces himself to think critically, to ignore the details, to remember that someone in this equation must die and it is better for the people he cares about if it isn’t him.

As the woman thrusts forward a grimy hand, Leorio glimpses a series of blue flashes in the woods, followed by a grunt and a heavy thud. Leorio dodges her grasp and grimaces. Killua will give him a hard time if he takes too long, and while he would rather avoid these situations altogether, Leorio’s committed to the idea that it is better to fight for survival than to surrender.

And in this case, to give Killua any sort of unnecessary bragging rights.

Slipping past the woman, Leorio avoids her snarling mouth as she whips her head around to follow him. He grabs the back of her neck, keeping her at bay as she flails, before plunging his switchblade into the base of her skull, splicing between vertebrae and cutting into the brain stem.

Ordinarily, there might be hope of recovery through extensive surgery and rehabilitation. For zombies, this is enough.

He withdraws his knife, and black blood oozes from the wound as she collapses, falling to the ground in a limp heap, her skull bouncing once before she becomes still.

Killua materializes by Leorio’s side as he wipes his blade on the grass. Hands tucked into his pockets once more, Killua lifts his chin and stares up at the sky where the moon and hundreds of glittering stars glow. “Doesn’t it seem strange?”

“What?” Pocketing his knife, Leorio quickly adjusts the woman’s body so that she appears more peaceful. He leaves her jawbone where it lay.

With a shrug, Killua proceeds into the woods back toward their camp. “I dunno. How easy it is.”

“Only someone like you would think zombies are  _ easy _ ,” Leorio mutters.

“One blow is usually all it takes,” Killua explains. He raises his arms to interlock his hands behind his head. “It’s quick. It’s easy. It makes you wonder how everything’s gone to shit just because of them. They’re basically just human-shaped dingoes but dumber.”

Leorio swallows. He catches up to Killua with long strides but stays behind him, watching his back. “We’ve been lucky,” he says. “That’s all.”

When they return, exhaustion has begun to seep into Leorio’s joints, and he yawns so fully, he almost coughs as a result. Killua, smug as ever, jerks a thumb towards an open tree where the branches sprawl enough to grant Leorio plenty of space and security. At first, Leorio shakes his head, rejecting the offer of hospitality, but when the motion causes his vision to swim, he lowers his face in defeat. Reluctantly, Leorio obliges, nodding his thanks before climbing.

In spite of Killua’s perpetually rotten attitude, Leorio has learned that even the born-and-bred assassin cares about him, at least a little, and he can’t help but feel comforted by this fact as he secures himself to a cluster of thick branches.

Dawn is not far off now, and even with lingering regrets, Leorio slips into sleep quite easily, satisfied by the expediency of their dispatch of threats and the illusory promise of safety through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always encouraged and appreciated ^-^


	5. Chapter 5

In the morning, Leorio wakes with a mild headache to the sounds of songbirds. He supposes that he should appreciate the beauty of nature, but instead, he squeezes his eyes shut and cups his hands over his ears, trying to stifle the sound.

The darkness is not soothing. It is, in some ways, restricting. There are limits to the unknown that stretches before him, dyed faintly red as sunlight shines through his eyelids. 

A hand falls upon his forehead, and he stiffens, cracking one eye open. Kurapika has draped his body over a sturdy branch, and when he sees that Leorio’s awake, he trails his fingers down the length of Leorio’s face, his touch tender. “Good morning.”

Leorio can’t understand or explain why he feels like crying, so he drapes an arm over his face and feigns a yawn to chase away the urge. “Morning.”

Kurapika looks down at him, one hand cupping his cheek, his gaze soft. “Sleep well?”

With a snort, Leorio sits up, wincing as the blood in his head pounds. Massaging his temples, he manages a pained smile. “What do you think?”

Nodding, Kurapika glances down to where Killua, Gon, and Alluka are crouching, hunched over their map and plotting their next move. “There’s a small city nearby. We should be able to reach it before dusk if we move efficiently. We all think that’s our best bet since we’re running low on, well, everything.”

Leorio ignores the pang in his chest at the realization that they hadn’t consulted him, shoving his feelings aside in favor of the recognition that he would agree with their decision anyway. “Then I guess we should get moving.”

As he unfastens the rope around his waist, Kurapika climbs down, sinking to perch adjacent to Leorio, knees grazing his hip. “If you need more time to rest, we’ve got some to spare. You don't have to push yourself.”

Leorio scoffs. “Did you talk to Killua or something?”

Brows furrowed, Kurapika shakes his head. “No. Frankly, you look like death.”

Glowering, Leorio coils up his rope and tucks it into his bag before stretching out his limbs, ensuring they are limber enough to endure a drop to the earth. “You don’t look much better, sunshine. It’s called  _ apocalypse chic _ , or so I’ve heard.”

“Leorio.”

“I’m fine,” he says, wrapping both hands around the girth of a branch and lowering himself, dangling for a moment before dropping down. The impact sends a jolt of pain up his legs, but it vanishes quickly, allowing him to stand and stretch more effectively. When Kurapika joins him, he turns. “I’m not very good at roughin’ it. I’ll sleep better when we find a place with walls again.”

Kurapika spares a small smile as he reaches him, sprawling his fingers across the width of Leorio’s spine by his shoulder blades, warmth spreading into his skin. “You’d better. We’ve all got better things to do than worry about you, you know.”

Frowning, Leorio maneuvers away from Kurapika’s hand with a dismissive wave. “Yeah, yeah.”

It’s too complicated to think like that, to hold his own life with such regard. He’ll run himself ragged if it means giving the others a better chance of survival, though he refrains from saying as much.

It doesn’t take them long to gather their supplies and determine the best course to take. Killua quickly outlines the route he’s identified as being the fastest, avoiding populated areas to the best of their ability and sticking primarily to the wild areas—woods and wide prairies—to limit their chances of encountering any zombies.

“Not that they’re that big of a threat anyway,” Killua mutters as he rolls up the map.

“Hey,” Leorio says, flicking him in the forehead. “Remember what I said last night.”

Killua taps his chin. “That I’m wise for my age?”

Resisting the urge to jab him, Leorio sighs. “No, not that. We’ve been lucky. They’re not much of a threat on their own unless they catch us by surprise. Don’t underestimate them.”

To Leorio’s surprise, Killua whips around, his face twisted with undeniable anger. “You keep saying that, but where’s the proof? I get it. They’re flesh-eating monsters. In case you’ve forgotten, Gon and I’ve dealt with that before. And this? This is nothing.”

“Then why is the world the way it is now?” Leorio counters. A deep, resounding melancholy settles in his stomach. “Why are we clinging to the forests like refugees seeking asylum? Why are we taking so many precautions? Why can’t we carry on as usual?”

Killua shrugs, taking a step back. “I don’t know. Maybe the world wasn’t ready, and that’s why everything’s gone to shit.”

“That’s part of it,” Leorio says softly. “I think, in a lot of ways, we were overwhelmed. We all lacked foresight and resources and ideas. And there’s a distinct absence of possible solutions, even now, aside from run, hide, fight, and survive. I’m not saying you need to be on guard all the time. All I want you to do is take this seriously and be prepared for anything.”

Leorio pushes back the memories from the hospital, the sounds of gnashing teeth and the smells that clung to the walls. He shudders anyway, casting his gaze heavenward.

After a moment, Killua sighs. “Fine. But from what I’ve seen, it’s pretty hard to believe that these zombies are a real threat.”

“Their strength is in numbers,” Leorio says simply. “And the fact that they aren’t deterred by pain or injury or emotion. If you stabbed me—this is purely hypothetical; do  _ not _ stab me—I might flinch or back away to get a better hold on the situation. Those who are infected won’t do that. If you brandished a knife in their direction, they’d impale themselves just to get to the hand that holds the blade.”

Despite his attempts at stoicism, Killua visibly pales at the comment, but he quickly shakes off his disturbance. “At any rate, we can deal with them. That's why we’re together. We have a better chance as a group, right?”

Leorio nods. “Right.”

“In that case,” Kurapika interjects impatiently, “now that we’re all in some sort of agreement, let’s get moving. We have a long day ahead of us, and it would be best if we arrive in the city before dusk so we can secure a safe haven.”

“Always the voice of reason,” Leorio quips, earning himself a jab to the upper arm. He winces but grins anyway, sticking out his tongue before bolting out of the clearing, the others chasing after him. He slows his pace within a few minutes, enjoying only briefly the respite, the silence and serenity, that finds him when he feels alone in the woods.

After hours of a quiet, peaceful hike through the dense forest, they find themselves atop a modest hill overlooking their destination. Afternoon is drawing to an end, but the sunlight is still bright and golden, illuminating the brilliant greens of tall grasses and the resplendent colors of wildflowers that decorate the landscape.

Upon encountering this sight, Alluka steps forward. She rarely takes initiative, accepting that Killua wants only to protect her during this time, but the look in her eyes—glittering, youthful, and full of wonder—prevents anyone from trying to stop her.

Without warning, she throws out her arms and races down the hill. Pollen and petals rise up in her wake, stirred by her speed and the accompanying breeze, but the grin on her face is the sight to behold. At the bottom of the hill, she spins, hands extended above her head as she laughs.

It is mundane. It is simple. A grassy hill in the sun is not something that would typically excite anyone. And yet, faced with this feature, Alluka delights as though she has never felt such joy before.

Gon laughs, too, and Leorio watches as Gon follows in Alluka’s wake, losing his footing halfway and tumbling acrobatically down to rest at her feet. Killua arrives by his side, sliding down the length of the hill without difficulty, and promptly flicks Gon in the forehead as Alluka giggles.

At the top of the hill, Leorio now smiles as Alluka gathers wildflowers into bouquets and Gon turns over round stones, thrusting his discoveries in Killua’s disgusted face. Kurapika places a hand on Leorio’s shoulder and squeezes. Leorio doesn’t need to look at him to know that Kurapika’s thoughts are the same.

They were all robbed of their youth, one way or another, and for the three playing below, that couldn’t be more true. So at times like these, when even the smallest respites can be made into memorable moments, it is all Leorio can do to simply watch and remember and grant them the singular opportunity to exist, unafraid and unhindered, with joy.

* * *

They reach their destination in the early evening. Compared to the town they last visited, this place is a sprawling urban realm with shuttered shops and bodegas and ravaged gentrified sections, but it is just as quiet as all others. They approach with caution, knowing it is better to be wary, but there are no signs of life here.

As the sun begins to set, Killua guides them down a side street to a motel. It is, naturally, no longer open for business, and while the electronic keypads no longer work, they find that it is easy enough to set up a barrier from within using the furniture available in the rooms.

They split into two groups, deciding to opt for comfort and, in Leorio’s case, a smidge of deserved privacy. He and Kurapika settle in a room with a queen-sized bed, a private bathroom, and a sunken living room, complete with a massive flat screen. There is no running water or electricity, so the luxuries are somewhat lost, but Leorio doesn’t care, and Kurapika doesn’t seem to mind either.

When night finally falls, Leorio feels the brunt of his exhaustion settle over him at once, and he sinks onto the side of the bed closest to the door, resting his head in his hands.

“Do you need anything?” Kurapika asks. He’s finally finished inspecting the room for anything useful or dangerous—the two extremes of Kurapika’s perception. “Are you feeling all right?”

Leorio limply waves a hand. “I’m fine. Just tired. A bit worried that if I fall asleep in an actual bed, I might not wake up.”

And then, Kurapika’s arms are winding around him from behind, overlapping at the elbows near Leorio’s sternum. Kurapika rests his cheek against Leorio’s and leans into him. “I’ll make sure you do.”

When Kurapika kisses him, Leorio is hesitant to reciprocate, but after a moment of deliberation, he allows himself this simple pleasure, reaching to cup Kurapika’s face with a touch as gentle as his dry, calloused hands will allow.

And soon, they are lying together, sprawled atop the white comforter, limbs intertwined and skin hot. Leorio imagines he could easily let himself go, draw his conscience out for a moment and let his desire take over. But he pulls away instead, taking Kurapika’s hand and kissing each knuckle with more care than he could ordinarily bear to show.

“We should get some rest,” Leorio says. “We should.”

“Are you telling  _ me _ that,” Kurapika says, “or are you trying to convince yourself?”

Leorio laughs softly. “Yeah. Both, I guess.”

Kurapika sits up to pull the blankets over them both and returns to Leorio’s side, seeking his hand beneath the sheets. “Probably for the best.”

Leorio kisses his forehead, lingering there with furrowed brows as though he can convey everything he feels with a single gesture. “You know I want to.”

“Do I?”

“You’d better. I’m not gonna say it any more clearly.”

It’s Kurapika’s turn to laugh. He inches closer until he can nuzzle Leorio’s chest and wind a hand around the back of Leorio’s neck without causing discomfort. He slides one leg up to slip between Leorio’s knees, the motion both innocuous and devious. “That’s fine. I’m fine just like this.”

Leorio clenches his teeth, wondering if the hammering of his heart is audible to Kurapika who rests so close. Instead of worrying about it, he opts to stroke Kurapika’s hair, easing through a few knots in his silky locks and savoring the sensation.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” Leorio murmurs. “It is. For me.”

Kurapika is silent. He curls his free hand into a loose fist against Leorio’s chest and sighs into his skin. For a few moments, there is peace. Leorio allows himself to delve into fantasy. They’ve run away, or they’ve taken a spontaneous trip. The motel is subpar, but that couldn’t matter any less. They’re together, after all, and that’s all they need.

Leorio smiles against Kurapika’s forehead, closing his eyes and draping his free hand over Kurapika’s waist, lightly pulling him even closer, keeping his touch light but firm. He grits his teeth and dares to imagine that his determination, his love, alone can save them.

When Kurapika’s hand grazes his cheek, Leorio realizes he’s started to cry. Ordinarily, he would feel embarrassed, not because of the tears themselves but because he couldn’t name the exact cause. It’s full-bodied and complex, something that cannot be identified with words alone.

He opens his eyes to find Kurapika staring at him, his reddened gaze the only clear thing to him in the darkness. For a moment, Kurapika’s earnest stare enchants him, holding him captive. When Kurapika speaks, the peaceful illusion shatters.

“You know I would die for you, Leorio,” Kurapika says. His voice is soft but sure. “If it came down to it, I would.”

Stunned, Leorio nearly finds himself at a loss for words. But he recovers quickly, replacing his shock with fury.

“Don’t talk like that,” Leorio says sharply. “It’s not funny.”

“I wouldn’t joke about something like this.”

“Well, I don’t like it,” Leorio snaps. Someone in the room beside them, likely Gon, shifts in his sleep, slightly roused by Leorio’s careless volume. The walls are thin. Retrospectively, he’s glad he stopped himself earlier.

A slow, stiff silence follows. Leorio bunches the blanket in his fist until his hand trembles from the tension.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Kurapika finally says, his voice soft.

Leorio exhales. “You shouldn’t even think of something like that.”

“Even though you’ve been saying the same thing all this time?”

“That’s different,” Leorio says with a note of finality.

Kurapika sighs, and Leorio imagines the sound is accompanied by a languid roll of the eyes. “What would you prefer I say, Leorio?”

Giving it a moment of thought, Leorio shifts onto his back and stares at the ceiling. “I’d rather you want to live for me.”

“Someone’s a bit full of himself, huh?” Kurapika muses.

“That’s not what I meant,” Leorio says, cheeks burning in the darkness. “I don’t want you to die at all. I want a future with you in it. Nothing less.”

For a moment, Kurapika is quiet. A gentle rustling announces the arrival of Kurapika’s other hand as it seeks Leorio’s, fingers weaving together in the space between them. Hands clasped, there is an unprecedented warmth there, far from uncomfortable. Kurapika rubs his thumb over Leorio’s knuckles.

“I want the same,” Kurapika murmurs.

“Oh, good,” Leorio says. “You had me worried for a sec—”

“ _ But _ that won’t be possible if you keep behaving like an idiot,” Kurapika continues, inching closer to Leorio so that their faces are inches apart and Kurapika’s leaning against him, the softness of his chest pressing against Leorio’s torso. “So you have to stay alive, too. Promise me.”

Leorio draws Kurapika’s hand close and presses his lips to each finger in turn. “Fine. I’ll try. Just for you.”

Intertwined, they draw upon each other, succumbing to rest with the knowledge that they are bound by love and care and perhaps something even greater, well beyond their comprehension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always encouraged and appreciated ^-^


	6. Chapter 6

“That’s the last of it,” Leorio says, scraping the contents of their final can onto a cracked dish they’d salvaged from some abandoned house last week. “Let’s just hope this place has something worth taking.”

It is a measly breakfast, straying from platters of the past and even the occasional scavenged meals from the forest, but it suffices. They’ve all learned to contain their complaints, though Killua continues to grimace as he spreads his portion across his plate, raking through it with a fork as though it were a zen garden.

“Don’t waste it,” Leorio warns, gesturing with his own fork. “You be grateful for what you’ve got.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Killua mutters, scooping a delicate bite onto his utensil and guiding it to his lips. His jaw trembles, resisting, but ultimately, Killua succumbs, shutting his eyes and swallowing. When he notices Leorio is still watching him, Killua opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue. “There. Happy?”

With a broad, genuine grin, Leorio nods. “Very.”

The meal is far from satisfying, but it concludes on a jovial note with Alluka and Gon holding back Killua as he threatens to toss the remnants of his breakfast at Leorio’s face while Leorio loses himself to a loud burst of laughter and Kurapika, still groggy from sleep, shakes his head and scrapes his plate clean.

Once they clean up, they determine a simple plan for the day: locate and search abandoned stores for essential supplies. In a smaller town, they might split up to cover the entire area within a day, but cities are often host to greater threats and a higher population of the undead. It is also more likely that there are survivors, but that, as they have learned, is not always a thing to celebrate.

They meet outside their rooms, bags slung over their shoulders. Compared to some other cities, this one is remarkably small, and from the second floor of the motel, they can nearly see to the outer limits, following the geometric sprawl of streets and alleys. Still, it has become imperative that they search the city in its entirety to guarantee their survival.

Leorio’s stomach twists at the thought of going hungry. He reasons he can manage a few days without food and still function just fine, but he would sooner die than subject Gon, Killua, and Alluka to that. He’s sure that they’ve all experienced hunger before, the kind that roots in the gut and cramps and gnaws from the inside. This recognition only serves to enforce his opinion. Never again. They may be in the midst of an apocalypse, but if Leorio has anything to say about it, they’ll never have to deal with such torment again.

He shrugs his duffel bag so that it shifts to rest along his spine. “Let’s go.”

It is always a pleasant surprise when everyone nods their agreement, following after him with trust and determination in their eyes. Leorio chooses to disregard it for the most part, believing it to be a wrong and selfish pleasure, but he cannot always ignore that bloom of warmth in his chest, the feeling of respect and appreciation he’s often craved.

They take to the streets, proceeding with caution. Close to the motel, they find a variety of storefronts, boarded up and decimated: pawn shops, laundromats, dry cleaners, bondsmen, and more. They resolve to investigate these upon their return, reasoning that while they typically wouldn’t carry anything they currently need, it’s possible that someone’s used them as a storehouse.

A few blocks away, they find a small pharmacy that has already been raided, but upon taking a closer look, Leorio finds a few scattered, precious bottles—anti-inflammatory aids, itch relief, electrolyte powders—remaining on the shelves. After inspecting the expiration dates, Leorio gleefully tucks them into his bag. Though the others don’t have as much medical knowledge, they search the building, too. Alluka, on her hands and knees, manages to find a package of antibacterial pills beneath a shelf, and much to Killua’s displeasure, Leorio plants a kiss on her forehead in gratitude.

“Keep your hands to yourself, old man,” Killua says, tugging Alluka back into his arms despite her protests.

Leorio, hands on his hips, can’t shake his grin. “I’d give you a kiss, too, if you found anything worthwhile.”

He ducks out of the way of the protein powder container Killua lobs at his head, laughing as he circles around behind the counter.

The register has been excavated, though Leorio doesn’t particularly care about the money. He’s looking instead for anything hidden and useful like a lockbox with a secret stash of morphine. The likelihood of this, he knows, is slim, but he crouches down anyway, scanning the shelves beneath the counter.

He does not find any medicine. He does, however, find a gun.

Rising slowly, he places the handgun and the lone box of ammo beside the register. The sound draws Kurapika’s eyes, which narrow at the sight of the weapon. He approaches the counter and rests a hand atop the gun. “Have you ever used one?”

Leorio shakes his head. “Never wanted to.”

Kurapika nods slowly, then lifts his hand to inspect the gun more closely. He lifts it, keeping the barrel pointed toward the wall. “It’s in decent shape.”

“You think we should take it?”

“Yeah,” Kurapika says, checking the cylinder and clearing out the remaining ammo, dumping it onto the counter. “As insurance.”

The word sends a shiver down Leorio’s spine. He knows immediately what Kurapika is suggesting. A bullet to the head will solve the problem, should it arise. The gun ensures that, in the event of the worst case scenario, no one needs to suffer or struggle for long.

Leorio swallows, suppressing the rise of nausea in his throat, and nods. “Will you hold onto it?”

When Kurapika meets Leorio’s eyes, his gaze is kind and sad. He puts the gun in his bag and reaches for Leorio’s hand, squeezing it. “Of course.”

Killua clears his throat. He’s standing near the entrance, one hand against the glass door to keep it cracked. “Are you two done having a moment? Gon just spotted a grocery store from the roof.”

“He was up on the roof?” Leorio says.

Killua shrugs. “He got bored.”

With a sigh, Leorio shakes his head and moves toward the exit. “We’d better keep moving. I think we’ve got everything useful here anyway.”   
  


He meets Kurapika’s eyes as he gives the store one final sweep. Kurapika offers a solemn nod and a small smile before following.

Once outside, Leorio looks up in time to see Gon clambering down the drain pipe from the pharmacy’s roof, kicking off the wall when he reaches the halfway point and landing impeccably on his feet, arms extended to either side. He beams at Leorio. “Did Killua tell you?”

Leorio ruffles his hair. “Yeah. Good job. Did you see anything else interesting up there?”

Lifting his chin, Gon stares at the sky in thought. “There were some cats fighting in an alley.”

Leorio shuts his eyes as Kurapika struggles to stifle a laugh. “That isn’t exactly what I meant…”

“Oh,” Gon says, appearing sheepish. “Then, no.”

Shrugging, Leorio pats Gon between the shoulder blades. “That’s fine. I’m hoping we’ll have our hands full with the grocery store. Mind leading the way?”

With a vigorous shake of his head, Gon grins. “Nope; follow me!”

Half a dozen blocks away, the grocery store stands, isolated within its empty parking lot. On all sides except one, tall, wild grasses border the lot, and the street adjacent to its entrance is quiet, boasting shuttered businesses—here, an antique store; there, a dilapidated bakery—and sidewalks littered with debris.

They detect no movement as they approach the store. It is small and cozy, a local sort of shop that might have previously been a home, and its entrances have been securely blocked. They circle around the building and find a window that remains untouched near the roof.

Raising his eyebrow, Leorio looks to Gon. “Think you can get up there  _ safely _ and get inside?”   
  


Gon flashes a smile. “Piece of cake!”

As promised, Gon navigates the outer wall of the building with relative ease, barely breaking a sweat before reaching the window. He knocks against the glass and cups his hands around his eyes to peer into the room beyond. “Looks like an attic? Just a bunch of boxes up here.”

Leorio rolls up his sleeves. “Perfect. If you can’t open the window, I want you to break it.” When Gon reels back a clenched fist, Leorio shouts, “Not with your  _ hand _ . Kick it in, at least.”

Faltering, Gon manages to catch himself before his fist can connect with the glass. “Be more specific next time!” he whines, adjusting his position on the wall. Gripping the upper part of the window frame, Gon pushes off the wall and thrusts his whole body forward, shattering the glass and launching himself inside.

Aside from the soft glittering sound of glass fragments falling, the air is silent. Leorio and Kurapika eye their surroundings, searching for movement, but they find nothing out of the ordinary.

Gon appears in the window moments later, wielding a broomstick and waving them all back before swiping the end against the window’s edges to clear away the remaining glass. “Where’s the rope?”

“First,” Leorio says, “are you sure it’s all clear up there?”

Pouting, Gon makes a point to quickly turn his head. “Yep, looks good!”

“ _ Gon _ . Not funny.”

“I checked it out! The attic is clear, and there’s a staircase near the front. I couldn’t hear anything from downstairs. This place was really well-prepared!” Gon says. “I was gonna go ahead and search everywhere, but I figured you’d yell if I did.”

“He’s right,” Kurapika says, nodding solemnly. “You would yell.”

Leorio bristles. “Only because it’d be stupid.”

“Guys, the rope…” Gon says weakly, hanging out the window and waving down to them.

With a prolonged exhale, Leorio removes his bag from his shoulders and recovers a bundle of rope from within. He tosses it to Gon who nimbly catches it and disappears within the attic to fasten it.

“Make sure the knot is tight,” Leorio says.

Killua rolls his eyes. “You sure are naggy today.”

“Look,” Leorio says, “all I know is that, if something bad happens because of a tiny mistake, it’s gonna happen to me. That’s how it goes.”

Frowning, Killua eyes Leorio with something like disgust. “And I thought Kurapika was a pessimist.”

“Hey!” Leorio and Kurapika say, practically in unison.

The rope falls in a heavy coil by their feet, and Gon pokes his head out once more. “C’mon!”

Setting aside the frivolous conflict, they begin to climb, sending Killua first and Alluka shortly after. Leorio insists he is the last to climb, and reluctantly, Kurapika accepts this, his gaze darting around until he reaches the roof, still trying to search for threats.

By the time Leorio enters the attic and recovers the rope from outside, the others have made fine work of sifting through the boxes, uncovering a menagerie of miscellaneous items. They find everything from what appear to be delicately-wrapped heirlooms and dust-coated toys to an unused first aid kit and winter coats.

Before venturing downstairs, they take care to collect the items that could prove to be the most useful, already satisfied by their fortunate finds.

But in the store below, they enter a different world.

The shelves can hardly be considered well-stocked, but it has been some time since any of them have seen quite so much food in one place. Formerly-refrigerated sections house spoiled meats and rotten vegetables, and flies buzz around their faces, only somewhat deterred by their flailing hands. In the aisles, boxed goods can be found on the shelves and scattered on the floor, some bearing telltale marks of rodent teeth, and though many of the canned items are dented or punctured, the selection of salvageable items exceeds their expectations by miles.

When they determine that the store is empty save for the bugs and rodents lurking about, they split up, Alluka and Gon racing down the snack aisle to hunt for goodies with Killua scaling the shelves and surging in front of them in his pursuit of his beloved chocolate snack.

Leorio and Kurapika each tackle the aisles of non-perishables, gathering stacks of canned vegetables, soups, fruits, and more in addition to packages of rice, dry pasta, and crackers. Other lucky finds include jars of peanut butter, granola bars, jerky, and canned tuna.

When Leorio finds a massive bundle of instant noodles, he hoists it in the air like a trophy, and Kurapika clasps his hands together in genuine excitement.

It’s difficult, in hindsight, to express just how moving an experience this is. To find supplies in the darkness of a boarded up building that is nearly inaccessible and therefore its own fortress, to laugh amidst the moldy bread and stale cereal, to snatch handfuls of mints and gum from the cashier stands—these singular joys are unparalleled, even when compared to the moments they experienced before the dark days of the present. Leorio even snags a carton of cigarettes and a lighter, shrugging sheepishly when Kurapika’s eyes find him.

“You should know those are bad for your health,” Kurapika says.

“I do,” Leorio says, eying the simple packaging. “I won’t do it around them.”

Kurapika moves closer, placing a hand on Leorio’s upper arm. “I’m not worried because I think you’ll make a bad impression, Leorio.”

“Oh, but you are worried about me?” Leorio murmurs, bending down to graze Kurapika’s forehead with his lips. “How sweet.”

While Kurapika doesn’t move away, his tone is harsh as he reaches up to grab Leorio’s cheeks, squishing inward with his thumb on one side and his fingers on the other. “Of course I am. Don’t make light of it.”

“Sorry,” Leorio croaks. When Kurapika releases him, Leorio massages his face. “I appreciate it. I do.”

“We all have to care about each other,” Kurapika says, searching for the others and smiling when he sees Killua’s hand extended just beyond Gon’s reach. “And I think it’s important that we make an effort to show that concern, too.”

“Sure,” Leorio says, resting a hand atop Kurapika’s head, much to his displeasure, and skimming his fingertips against his scalp. “You can be the one to tell Killua he has to show just how much he cares about us. I can’t wait to watch him implode.”

Before Kurapika can retaliate, Gon and Alluka rush toward them, various items gathered in their arms, with Killua right behind them. They are beaming, cheeks flushed, as they brandish their discoveries.

Together, they organize their finds on the floor of the grocery store, separating items into piles—and, at their request, allowing Gon, Killua, and Alluka to keep a few items from the collective inventory. By the time they finish, Leorio is satisfied that the supplies they’ve gathered will last them a few weeks without weighing them down too much, which is frankly the best outcome he could hope for. 

He sifts through their collected items and withdraws five granola bars, distributing them amongst the group. After unwrapping one end, he extends his arm into the center of their misshapen circle, raising his eyebrows expectantly until the others follow suit. “I just wanted to celebrate this event. It’s been a productive morning, and I, for one, am incredibly grateful.”

“Because we went grocery shopping?” Killua quips, earning him a sharp nudge in the shoulder from Gon.

“Killua, you almost cried when you saw those Choco Robots,” Gon mutters in an accusational tone.

Killua sputters, then smiles weakly, leaning into Gon’s shoulder. “I know, I know. I was just kidding.”

Leorio takes a bite out of his granola bar, lifting his face to the ceiling as he enjoys it. When he swallows, he grins. “Never thought granola could taste so good.”

When they finish eating their snacks, the group conducts one final sweep of the store before returning to the attic and preparing for their return to the motel. Gon reaches the window first and thrusts his head out, clinging to the frame while broken glass crunches under his feet as he shifts to increase his range of perception. He straightens when he returns, donning a mock salute. “All clear!”

Hefting his bag on his shoulders, Leorio extends a hand toward Gon and nods at the coiled rope on the ground. “I’ll head down first. I’ll even catch you all if you wanna jump into my arms.”

“Gross,” Killua says at nearly the same moment that Alluka throws up her hands and grins in excitement. Killua stares at her before turning away, rolling his eyes, only to shoot daggers at Leorio. “You drop her, you die.”

Leorio holds up both hands to appease him. “Yeah, yeah, I know the drill. Let’s get moving. Maybe we can cook something tasty for dinner tonight, give ourselves a real feast.”

“I’m not sure we should squander our new surplus like that,” Kurapika says patiently.

“I was exaggerating,” Leorio says, wrapping the rope around his hand as he leans against the window. “Either way, it’ll be a nice family dinner like we deserve. We’ve gotta try and do them more often.”

“We eat together every day,” Killua says, balking. “And what do you mean,  _ family dinner _ ?”

Leorio sticks out his tongue before bolting out the window, taking care to slow his descent as soon as he is beyond Killua’s reach. He lowers himself at a deliberate pace, sparing glances in each direction before allowing his feet to touch the ground. Raising a hand to signal the others to wait, Leorio carefully peeks around the building, relieved to find the area as quiet and lifeless as before. With a sharp wave of his hand, he communicates to the others that it is safe to proceed.

Alluka follows through with her excitement, though Killua clings to the back of her dress until he has confirmed that Leorio is ready to catch her. She winds a gloved hand loosely around the rope for stability and leaps out the window, the fabric of the skirt billowing in the breeze around her bloomers. Leorio opens his arms and bends his knees to brace for the impact, and she lands easily in his arms, giggling as he straightens before helping her stand on her own.

He winks at Killua and wiggles his splayed fingers. “Ready when you are.”

Killua feigns a gagging sound before rappelling out the window on his own, clutching Alluka’s hand once he lands. “I guess you’re off the hook,” he says. Then, more softly, he adds, “Thanks for actually catching her.”

Leorio nudges Killua’s arm with his elbow, sparing a smug twist of his lips. “As if I would let any of you fall.”

Once they have all reunited on the pavement, Gon ties the rope off on a bent parking sign. “In case we decide to come back,” he says, “or someone else needs supplies.”

Leorio nods his approval before setting off in the direction of the motel.

As before, the city is almost unnervingly quiet. They have come to expect this sort of silence from small towns, places that make migration and departure seem natural in a situation as dire as this, but not from urban sprawls where life should be abundant, if hidden away.

Because of these expectations, they keep up their guard, slowing their pace as they encounter intersections and pass by alleys. Along the journey, they encounter no survivors, no zombies, no strays—just occasional trash, blown by the breeze, as the cries of birds sound above them.

As they begin to navigate an untraveled block in an effort to minimize the distance they need to cover in order to reach safety, Leorio pauses rather abruptly, setting nerves ablaze. However, his reaction is not one of fear or panic; instead, it is full of excitement.

Ahead, dominating the majority of the block, is an urgent care facility, partially blockaded but appearing unscathed. Leorio’s eyes almost seem to glitter with excitement.

“We already got some medicine today, Leorio,” Kurapika says patiently, placing a hand on Leorio’s arm. “I’m not sure if we should risk it.”

“Why not?” Gon says, tilting his head to the side. “That pharmacy didn’t have a whole lot. We might be able to find something really useful. Right?”

Leorio bites his lip, avoiding Kurapika’s eyes. “He’s right. Someone else has probably been through this place already, but there’s a chance that they overlooked something important, something that could keep us alive and safe. I don’t want to pass that up.”

Lips twitching, Kurapika lightly squeezes Leorio’s arm before letting his hand slip away. “I understand. We just need to be careful.”

“We’ve been lucky so far today,” Gon says cheerfully. “As long as we act like we normally do, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

Leorio ruffles Gon’s hair and peers smugly at Kurapika. “See? Listen to Gon. He’s optimistic. We need that every now and then.”

Kurapika glowers for a moment but his subsequent sigh softens his features. “Yes, yes. Please, lead the way.”

Finding a way into the urgent care facility proves to be a much simpler task than their previous break-in; Leorio quickly learns that the wood panels barring the doors have been nailed on either side, and though the tools they have on hand are limited, it is a relatively easy task to wrench the wood away from the frame and permit them entry.

Inside, the facility is dark and dreary. Toppled furniture, broken glass, and wilting magazines litter the tiled floor. By the reception desk, a water cooler stands, dust coating its top, the sole item in the room left untouched.

Leorio motions for the others to follow him as he approaches the doorway leading beyond the waiting room. The door is ajar, darkness bleeding into deeper shadows, and Leorio paces himself, allowing his eyes ample time to adjust.

Here, a long hallway stretches from either side of the building to the other, boasting various equipment and tools that would be effective for a standard physical—scales, blood pressure gauges, a countertop rack of test tubes, glass jars filled with cotton balls. On one end of the hall resides a cluster of doors, which Leorio assumes lead to private rooms previously used for examinations. Near the center of the hallway, a section branches off toward a set of double doors, the handles secured with a simple thick piece of wood; he imagines that beyond those doors is where test samples, experimental drugs, and other exciting, potentially life-saving materials may be. On the end closest to them, there is one door labeled “medical supplies” and another labeled “patient files.”

Leorio rubs his hands together, trying to contain his hope and enthusiasm. He reaches for the first door, placing a hand on the lever handle, but pauses before turning it, meeting the other’s eyes to confirm their preparedness. Once they all nod, Leorio opens the door.

The room within is small, somewhat cramped, but bursting with supplies. Leorio could almost cry. Instead, he begins to scour the shelves and cabinets, sifting through baskets of packaged medications, sterile needles, and more. When he finds a lone bottle of a particular clear liquid, he raises the glass to his lips and gives it a loud, careless kiss.

“You okay in there?” Killua asks. Despite the disdain evident in his tone, his expression appears to be one of concern.

In response, Leorio extends his hand to brandish the bottle. “Morphine. We’re lucky that we haven’t needed any painkillers. If any of you had twisted an ankle or, God-forbid, broken a bone, you would have had to suck it up and deal with the pain. Yes, Killua, I know you  _ can _ handle it, but you would have bitched about it the whole time, wouldn’t you?”

Killua, who had opened his mouth to counter, snaps his lips shut, his teeth clacking together. He pouts, muttering something unintelligible under his breath, unable to honestly refute the accusation.

Satisfied, Leorio pockets the drug as well as a sufficient number of sterilized needles, oral antibiotics, antacids, aspirin, hydrocortisone, and a few other medications. He also grabs a supply of bandages and gauze, stuffing them in his bag along with the food until the pack is nearly bursting.

When he rises, he does so with a brilliant grin which is met with disinterested expressions. He doesn’t allow the others’ lack of enthusiasm and understanding sour his mood, however, and shakes his head as he emerges from the room. “You’ll be thankful we stopped here, I guarantee it.”

“So far, I’m just bored,” Killua says, lacing his fingers behind his head. “But hey, if you’re happy, I guess that’s all we need.”

“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm.”

“Who says I was being sarcastic?” Killua says. When Leorio stares him down, Killua relents, rolling his eyes. “Okay, fine, I was. I’m just excited to get out of here. How could you work in a place like this? It’s depressing.”

Leorio frowns. “To be fair, it’s not usually this dark and dirty in a hospital setting.”

With a shrug, Killua glances warily around the hallway. “Doesn’t make much of a difference to me.”

“At any rate,” Leorio says, cracking his knuckles, “I’d like to get out of here, too, but I’m not ready to leave. Not yet.”

No one argues. This is Leorio’s element, after all, and who are they to disagree? At least, that’s what Leorio imagines they’re thinking as they watch him approach the double doors near the center of the hallway. He hears their footsteps as they round the corner. His heartbeat fluttering in his chest from anticipation, Leorio swiftly removes the board keeping the doors shut.

“Let’s see what’s behind door number two,” Leorio says with a grin as he yanks on the handle.

As the door opens, Leorio fails to acknowledge Kurapika’s sharp cry of warning or the subtle movement of shadows behind the door or the faintly astringent scent of rotting flesh or the shuffling of feet just out of sight. By the time he realizes what’s happening, it is far too late to change his course. The door is opening. And the horror on the other side is hungry and desperate.

Leorio tries to turn and shouts for the others to get back, but he sees that they’re already lunging for him, arms outstretched and hands reaching; even Alluka, with tears brimming in her eyes, is stumbling toward him.

Time seems to slow as Leorio feels something grab his collar and tugs him backwards toward hungry, snapping maws, the sound of gnashing teeth drawing closer to his ears. And in this moment, as he watches his friends race towards him, fear and desperation in their eyes, he thinks,  _ Ah. This is what it means to be loved. _

Pain twists in his stomach, deep and raw, as he realizes just how much he doesn’t want to die. He lifts his arm, extends a hand, struggles against the grip of dozens as they pull him away. He is reaching, searching for anchorage, shoulders straining against the force behind him.

Blackened, twisted hands tear at his clothes, scraping at his skin, and he clings to the edge of a door, kicking back at the zombies with little success. It’s as he’s said before, countless times, to the others: alone, they’re simple, but together, they are formidable.

It feels like a dream, these precious seconds, each motion conducted as though through jelly. When Kurapika seizes his outstretched hand, Leorio imagines he knows every line in his palm, can feel them shift against his own, and he chooses to dwell on this familiarity even as Kurapika pulls Leorio back with every ounce of strength and willpower he possesses, tearing Leorio from the fray and consequently tossing himself into it.

Leorio stumbles. Gon reaches him first, steadying him, as Killua slams into the door, pressing against the maddened horde struggling to escape. When Leorio finally recognizes he has avoided what would have been a vicious and violent death, he lifts his head and finds Kurapika, fighting back, teeth grit and grinding, left shoulder jammed against the door as he winces against the force of the zombies as they claw and bite at him. 

Then, Killua gains the upper hand, shoving the door closed with a roar of a cry, and Alluka quickly slips the board back into place, covering her ears as she races away. Kurapika falls to his knees as the zombies behind the door pound and moan, but the board seems to hold.

Leorio’s focus is consumed by Kurapika whose face is floor-tilted, hair slick against his forehead. His chest and shoulders heave with each breath, and his arms hang limp at his sides. His left shirt sleeve is soaked through with fresh blood.

And through the torn fabric, beneath the blood and torn tissue, Leorio sees the telltale mark of teeth imprinted on Kurapika’s flesh, just below the elbow.

Stomach churning and limbs numb, Leorio manages to get to his feet and ambles toward Kurapika who lifts his head with fear and revulsion in his eyes. The blood is flowing slowly now, but already, the skin of his forearm has become mottled and gray, the spread of the infection visible even in the dim light. Kurapika attempts a smile as he presses a trembling hand against the wound. “This is not how I expected it would end.”

While Kurapika’s comment spurs despair and guilt-ridden tears, Leorio sets his jaw and shakes his head. “No. I… It’s not over. It can’t end like this.”

“Leorio,” Kurapika says softly. “There’s nothing you can do.”

A moment of clarity strikes Leorio, though it is accompanied by a wave of coarse nausea and dread. He removes his shirt, leaving himself in a tank top, and ties it around Kurapika’s arm close to his shoulder, pulling the knot as tightly as he can as he speaks. “I can operate. If you trust me. I don’t know if it will work, but I can’t just sit here and… and watch you…”

Kurapika nods. “Do it.”

“It’ll hurt,” Leorio says. “Of all things, we don’t have anesthesia, and I’m not even qualified to administer it even if—”

“Leorio,” Kurapika says, grimacing. “Less talking. Please. Do what you must. Hurry.”

With a curt nod, Leorio hurries back to the supply room, snagging some spare medical gear he’s grateful to find as well as some grizzly tools—a bone saw, a cautery pen, suture tools. When he emerges a short minute later, Kurapika has broken into a sweat, his eyes shut tight and his chest heaving. 

“Killua, Gon, help me get him into one of those rooms,” Leorio barks. “After that, take Alluka outside. I’ll need your help getting Kurapika back to the motel, but you don’t need to be here for the rest. Understood?”

They nod, looking solemn. Killua, appearing paler than usual, approaches Kurapika first, supporting his head with considerable care while Gon lifts Kurapika’s feet. Inside the room, Leorio moves more quickly than he ever has in this capacity, elevating Kurapika’s arm and forcing a few antibacterial tablets into his mouth and tearing off Kurapika’s sleeve before cleaning his upper arm with an alcohol wipe and injecting a measured dose of morphine.

Kurapika groans, turning his head side to side, and Leorio decides to restrain him as much as possible, winding nearly an entire roll of gauze around the side table and each of Kurapika’s wrists before securing both with a meter or more of tape.

Leorio inhales, aligning the saw against Kurapika’s arm. No matter how hard he tries to focus, his hands still shake, his vision blurry from disorientation and brimming tears. But he knows that the longer he delays, the lower Kurapika’s chance of survival. Even now, Leorio can see the infection creeping up toward Kurapika’s head and heart, and this sight is enough to drive his hand.

He quickly presses a kiss to Kurapika’s forehead and murmurs, “I’m so sorry.”

With a tight grip on the saw, Leorio bears down on Kurapika’s flesh, cutting through skin and muscle with a wet, tearing sound. Blood quickly bursts from the cut as Kurapika’s muscles tense in protest. The sensation is familiar but unwelcome enough on its own, but Kurapika’s resounding, guttural scream nearly stays Leorio’s hand. Instead, he keeps going, reaching the bone within a few tense moments and clenching his teeth to keep himself from sobbing or gagging.

There is wet warmth surging around Leorio’s hand, tangible through the latex, and his vision blurs as he tries to focus on the desperate task.

Each pass of the saw’s teeth across the bone is grating, and Kurapika thrashes, jerking his wrists against his bonds in an impulsive, reactive attempt to stop him. The restraints hold, and Leorio presses down harder on the saw, praying for the task to end as he wrenches his shoulder back and forth, slipping as he fights to maintain his stance when Kurapika’s blood begins to pool on the floor.

As Leorio works, he watches that slow, steady advance of the infection as it turns Kurapika’s flesh rotten, creeping up his arm like fire across dry brush or ink on wet paper. Leorio considers, as sweat drips down his chin and his arms begin to tire, if the infection will simply spread to his skin by proxy, too, should he fail.

But the thought of failure torments him, especially when Kurapika gasps, bloodshot eyes flashing open at an instance of pain, his gaze falling on Leorio’s face in a silent plea. With a raw cry, Leorio angles the bone saw and forces it along its path with brute strength and a prayer. He strains, driving the saw downward with both hands, willing to rely on pressure more so than technique to sever the limb.

There comes a terrible, wet snapping sound, accompanied with a whimper. And then, the saw hits metal, and Leorio throws it into the room’s sink before grasping the cautery pen. Though his hands have stopped shaking, he can’t quite get his mind to settle as he takes in the sight of a pale, immobile Kurapika, his breathing shallow and his remaining hand bloody. Leorio moves to stand closer to Kurapika’s side and leans over him, holding down his right arm with his left hand and bringing the tool to Kurapika’s bleeding flesh.

Kurapika hisses through his teeth, red eyes flashing open at the shock of burning pain, but his eyes soon flutter shut as he finally succumbs to unconsciousness. Dizzy, Leorio attempts to soak up the blood but ultimately gives up, laying a pile of bloodied towels in the sink along with the abandoned bone saw.

With numb hands, Leorio applies an antibacterial salve to the cauterized wound and winds a clean bandage around it, securing it with a safety pin. He constructs a makeshift sling out of spare towels and gauze, keeping the injured limb secure and steady. Then, he gingerly lifts Kurapika into his arms, taking care to keep the wound elevated, and carries him out into the open air.

Gon, Killua, and Alluka wait diligently on the doorsteps of the facility and lurch to their feet when they hear Leorio coming.

“Will he be okay?” Gon blurts.

Leorio looks down at Kurapika’s face. At the very least, it seems that the amputation successfully staved off the infection, but what remains to be seen is if the course Leorio has taken will kill him instead. He swallows, then meets each of their eyes. “We’ll see. For now, I think it’d be best if we all get some rest. As much as we can, while we can.”

Killua averts his eyes but nods nonetheless. Leorio exhales a shaky breath and tries to ignore the wave of exhaustion threatening to wash over him. He sweeps a thumb across Kurapika’s forehead, brushing away his bangs, and prays for a miracle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always encouraged and appreciated ^-^


	7. Chapter 7

It is several hours before Kurapika’s eyes flutter open again. By this point, the four of them have carried him back to the motel and positioned him on the bed, elevating his injured limb and leaving him in Leorio’s care. Evening has come and melted into night before Kurapika so much as stirs. All the while, Leorio busies himself with routine, keeping Kurapika’s forehead cool and tucking blankets around his chest to help regulate the fever, administering medicine as needed, and pointlessly organizing the items they recovered from the store when there is nothing else he can do.

“Leorio?”

The moment Kurapika speaks, Leorio lurches to his side, dragging the wobbly desk chair closer to the bed. “What do you need?”

Kurapika manages a laugh, soft but lively. “You’re the doctor. You tell me.”

Leorio reaches for his right hand and brings it to his forehead, closing his eyes and exhaling heavily in an effort to steady his heart. “Right. Plenty of bedrest and fluids. Antibiotics. I’ve got enough painkillers to keep you from losing it, too.”

When Leorio finally lifts his face, Kurapika is gazing at him with an unbearable tenderness. Kurapika lifts his hand and gingerly draws his knuckles down the side of Leorio’s face. “I’m in good hands. Thank you.”

Biting down on his tongue, Leorio shakes his head. His throat tightens and aches as he fights tears. Until this moment, he’s managed to keep everything from overflowing, occupying his mind with essential tasks, blocking out the guilt, but Kurapika’s gratitude sends him teetering, spiralling. He gasps, sucking in air too quickly, and blathers, bumbling and frantic. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know words don’t mean shit, but they’re all I have. This shouldn’t have happened. It should have been me. It should have been  _ me _ .”

Kurapika’s fingers spread into Leorio’s hair until he is cupping his cheek, thumb stroking his cheek. When he speaks, his voice is level, firm but unbearably kind. “Know that I don’t blame you for what happened. I don’t. I didn’t in the moment, and I don’t now. All I know and care about is what you did after the fact. Do you understand?”

Leorio shakes his head. “It was my fault. And I hurt you more than they did. Do I even deserve to ask for forgiveness?”

Lightly, Kurapika closes his hand around Leorio’s ear and squeezes, earning him a startled yelp. “What you did, Leorio, was save my life. Do you want to apologize to me for that?”

“Well, no,” Leorio says, blinking until his vision ceases to swim. “But you could have died. And if it weren’t for me—”

“If it wasn’t for you,” Kurapika interjects, his voice soft but firm, “I wouldn’t be here right now. Do you realize that?”

Leorio meets Kurapika’s eyes and finds his gaze to be sincere. He allows himself a moment of silence, forcing his pulse to slow, and once he’s overcome the panic, he cups his hand over Kurapika’s and turns his head to kiss his palm. “I can’t change how I feel,” he says, “but I am so, so glad you’re alive. I guess I can cling to that instead of the guilt.”

With a satisfied sigh, Kurapika sinks back into the bed, pulling his hand away to rest upon his shoulder above the amputation point. He furrows his brow, and gritting his teeth, he slowly invokes his nen, chains haloed in a pale green aura appearing around his fingers.

Lurching forward, Leorio feels his panic spike. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m fine,” Kurapika says. He closes his eyes.

“You need to save your energy,” Leorio says, pleading.

Cracking an eye open, Kurapika smiles. “Don’t worry. I won’t overdo it.”

The guarantee is difficult to believe, but Leorio forces himself to sit back, keeping an eye on Kurapika, ready to intervene the moment his fever spikes or a single bead of sweat drips down his cheek.

But as Leorio watches, there is little indication of strain. A single chain slithers from Kurapika’s hand and snakes around the bandage on his arm until a slim cross rests atop it. With measured breaths, Kurapika channels his energy into the chain so that his aura seems to seep into the wounded area. There is no immediate physical change as far as Leorio can see, but some tension appears to leave Kurapika’s body, his facial features relaxing before he recalls the chain and his aura fades from view.

“Did that… do the trick?” Leorio asks cautiously.

Kurapika opens his eyes as he probes the area. “It’s not as effective right now, but at the very least, the wound is closed. No more bleeding.”

Leorio hastily reaches for the bandages, peeling them back as gently as he can, and finds that Kurapika’s claim is correct. In moderate disbelief, he smooths a hand over the flesh, recoiling when Kurapika flinches. “Ah, still tender?”

“A bit,” Kurapika confesses. He raises his arm to inspect his work and nods. “It certainly could be worse.”

“Does that chain also take care of infections?”

Balking, Kurapika manages a slight shrug. “I don’t know.”

Leorio brandishes a small sleeve of pills and pops two into his hand. “Then you’ll still be taking these for a while. Just to be safe.”

As Kurapika willingly obliges, they hear a knock at the door. Leorio rises, straightening his replacement shirt out of habit. After peeking through the tattered curtains, Leorio moves aside the dresser and turns the knob. Gon slips into the room, nudging past Leorio with a quick apology, and nearly collapses onto the bed when he sees that Kurapika is awake.   
  


“Oh, good!” Gon says, kneeling on the carpet to rest his arms on the comforter. He props his chin on folded hands. “We were really worried.”

“I’m sorry to have worried you,” Kurapika says, tilting his head and offering a small smile. “But as you can see, I’m all right.”

“You’re down a good five to ten pounds and several pints of blood,” Killua says, entering the room with Alluka on his heels. “I wouldn’t say you’re ‘all right.’ Though, then again…” His eyes flicker to rest deliberately on what remains of Kurapika’s left arm, a smirk ghosting across his lips.

“Don’t you dare say it,” Leorio barks, eyeing Killua with ice in his stare. He closes the door and rests a hand on Alluka’s shoulder, silently communicating his concern with a light squeeze. She lifts her face and smiles, looking tired but otherwise intact.

Kurapika shifts slightly but frowns when his arm falters. “Gon, would you mind—”

“On it!” He has already leapt to his feet and begun racing to Kurapika’s side, sliding an arm under Kurapika’s back and staring earnestly at his face. “What do you need?”

Kurapika blinks, then sighs. “I was just going to ask you to put another pillow behind me, but I suppose, while you’re here, you might as well help me sit up. It seems I’m still a bit weaker than I thought I was.”

“And  _ that _ is why I said you needed rest,” Leorio says, smugly raising an eyebrow. “At least several days. Ideally, a few weeks.”

At once, Kurapika’s expression grows grim. “We can’t just stay here for weeks on end, Leorio.”

“Why not?” He crosses his arms and leans against the wall adjacent to the door. “We’ve got a good resource for food and decent beds. It’s practically paradise.”

“I don’t trust the idea of staying still,” Kurapika says. “Not out here. Not where zombies could easily roam in and trap us. There are already zombies here, after all.”

“I know that,” Leorio says. He doesn’t mean for the words to be so sharp and takes a steadying breath before continuing. “I know. But I’m worried. We don’t know if your nen is enough. We don’t know if you’ll be okay. If we keep moving, if we run out of supplies while we’re in the middle of nowhere—”

Gon raises a hand. It is tentative and nervous but open. When all eyes turn to him, he clears his throat. “We’re pretty close to the coast, right? And we were gonna head to the Hunters Association Headquarters anyway. So I was thinking, instead of heading there right away, we could stop home.”

“Home.” Leorio repeats the word without thinking and meets Gon’s eyes. “It’s been a few months, huh?”

“Yeah.” Gon looks down at his feet for a moment, but his smile remains strong. “I was thinking it would be nice to see Aunt Mito. And it’s probably still pretty secure, right? That’s what you said at the beginning, that Whale Island was the safest place to be.”

Leorio rubs the back of his neck. “Guess I did say that, didn’t I?”

As he delays directly validating or dismissing Gon’s idea, Leorio tries to dispel the sense of unease that creeps into his abdomen, settling uncomfortably in his stomach. Now that they have come closer to the Hunter Association HQ, Leorio finds that their plans are remarkably fluid and lax, bearing no concrete methods of securing transportation, navigating to their destination, or ensuring their supplies are sufficient while at sea. But then, Leorio supposes, it doesn’t quite matter where they go.

During Leorio’s contemplative silence, Kurapika directs a smile at Gon. “That would be a pleasant change of pace.”

While Killua shuffles his feet, muttering something about how he “wouldn’t mind” visiting Mito again, Alluka perches on the bed so that her feet dangle, gazing up toward the ceiling. “We promised we’d go back, right? And last time, Gon didn’t even get to show us the forest.”

Gon’s eyes become brilliant, glossy and keen. “That wasn’t covered in the tour! There are so many places I have to show you.”

Leorio drops his arms and draws closer to the others, nodding with confidence. “Then it’s settled. When we leave here, we’ll find a boat and make our way to Whale Island.”

* * *

Nearly a week after the incident, they revisit the grocery store to bolster their stock before leaving the town. Having spent more time in this location than any other, it feels somewhat strange and almost sad to leave it behind. Gon borrows Leorio’s knife before they abandon the motel and carves their names into the walls—as well as the date, after consulting Killua’s impeccable memory—leaving behind some lasting indication that they had spent time there, living and breathing and surviving, for the sake of posterity and as reassurance so that anyone who comes after them might think,  _ we’re not alone after all _ .

And then, once they have doubled down on the notable buildings, giving the urgent care facility a wide berth, they venture toward the city limits in the direction of the shore.

Leorio has offered to assist Kurapika should the pain become too much— _ “I’ll carry you if you need me to,” Leorio had said, flexing his biceps, to which Kurapika had bluntly responded, “It was my arm that you cut off, Leorio, not my legs.” _ —and in spite of the prompt rejection, Leorio has faith that Kurapika will lean on him should it come to that.

According to Killua’s map and their collective planning, the nearest coast is about a day’s walk away. Leorio repeatedly encourages them all to take their time, to avoid rushing due to excitement, and to pace themselves; though Gon brushes him off with dismissive laughter and Killua rolls his eyes, he notes that they abide by these suggestions, proceeding along the roads and through the forest trails with steady, deliberate steps and refraining from racing ahead.

The walk is peaceful. There are birds alive and vocal in the trees above them, scattering at the sound of snapped branches and filling the air with song, and in the underbrush, small creatures hide then scamper away when their footsteps come too close. In the shade of the trees, the heat does not bother them much, though the humidity is enough to make them sweat, attracting insects that buzz in their ears and nip at their skin.

And then, near nightfall, Gon perks up, picking up his pace to pass Leorio and pause ahead, head tilted, one hand cupped behind his ear. When he turns back, he grins. “I hear seagulls. And the ocean. We’re close.”

While the news coaxes relieved sighs and enthusiastic smiles from the group, Leorio quickly subdues his excitement and clears his throat. “Let’s set up camp near the edge of the forest. It’ll be dark soon, and I trust our chances out here better than in a town we don’t have time to explore.”

Killua’s eye twitches with disdain, but for once, he doesn’t vocalize his complaints. Instead, he nods his reluctant agreement and diligently follows after Leorio once they resume their trek.

When they reach a point where they can all hear the distant crash of waves against the shore, they quickly locate a cluster of trees to house them for the night. Though Kurapika frowns, he allows Leorio to hoist him into the sturdy nook of a towering oak.

As Leorio helps Kurapika secure himself, he murmurs, “You could just sleep in my arms. I’d keep you safe.”

Kurapika scoffs, turning his face away, but not before Leorio spots the blush spreading across his nose. “I wouldn’t trust you to sleep if that were the case.”

It’s Leorio’s turn to flush, and he fails to concoct a suitable response. He ties off the rope, and before securing his own position, he reaches into his bag to withdraw some medicine. After dropping two antibiotic pills onto Kurapika’s tongue and watching him swallow, Leorio patiently asks, “Any pain?”

Pressing his lips together, Kurapika relents with a subtle nod. “Some.”

“Then I’ll give you a little,” Leorio says, already jabbing a fresh needle into the open bottle. “If only to help you sleep.”

“Is that a good idea?” Kurapika asks. “We have a limited supply.”

Leorio scowls, poking Kurapika’s forehead in an effort to convey his disappointment. “Would you like me to kiss it better instead?”

Biting his tongue, Kurapika meets Leorio’s eyes, his expression solemn and sincere. “That wouldn’t hurt.”

Self-silenced, Leorio cleans a small section of Kurapika’s arm with an alcohol wipe before injecting a dose of morphine and placing a bandage over the site. Once he meticulously puts everything away, he turns back to Kurapika and cups his face with one hand, tenderly grazing his scalp as he strokes Kurapika’s cheek with his thumb. Kurapika leans into Leorio’s hand, eyelids fluttering, chin raised in invitation.

Leorio’s kiss is gentle, restrained. His other hand falls upon Kurapika’s waist, which Kurapika covers with his own, pressing Leorio’s palm more firmly against his side. Leorio pulls away only to trail kisses along Kurapika’s jaw and down his neck, pausing when Kurapika shivers and sucks in a sharp, impulsive breath through his nose. Meeting his eyes, Leorio kisses him once more, plainly on the lips, and smooths back Kurapika’s hair. “We should get some rest.”

“Stingy.”

With a languid shrug, Leorio smiles before climbing back into another nook, quickly knotting his own length of rope around his middle. He blows Kurapika a kiss before leaning his head back and clasping his hands behind his neck.

Aside from Kurapika’s soft, disgruntled sigh and the soothing sounds of nocturnal nature—insects buzzing and bat wings flapping and creatures crying out during their nightly hunts—the forest is quiet, peaceful. If Leorio listens closely enough, he can hear whispers of the conversation between Gon and Killua several trees away, interspersed with stifled giggles, and in spite of himself, Leorio falls asleep easily with a smile upon his face.

* * *

In the morning, they find the town graciously empty, though they find, too, that their options for nautical transportation are rather limited. It makes sense that ship owners would have taken off with their property at the sign of trouble, but that doesn’t bode well with the group’s plans. Still, they find a few boats in decent condition, settling on an aged but functional pontoon to take them away. The name emblazoned on its side has faded over time, but Leorio mentally rechristens it, knowing that should he voice his idea, Killua will most certainly mock him.

_ Hope _ . Simple, full of promise and optimism, and exactly what Leorio feels he is currently lacking.

Predictably, Kurapika has some experience steering a boat, and Killua is no amateur either. Alluka studies the radars and keeps a careful eye on the sea ahead while Gon perches, cross-legged, atop the roof over the steering wheel, nose twitching and eyes closed to search for storms.

In these situations, Leorio can’t help but feel useless. He tries not to focus on this attitude, knowing it to be unproductive and demoralizing. Instead, he ensures that the others have sufficient water (purified from streams, collected in spare bottles) and snacks. The journey ahead is not long, Gon assures them, and they should arrive by midday. He squirms with excitement he tries to suppress, dedicating his attention to his role, but Leorio can’t help but grin at Gon’s childlike glee.

But even with Gon’s contagious enthusiasm, he can’t shake that feeling of undefined uncertainty and dread. Still, Leorio keeps his eyes on the ocean in front of them, waiting for the island to appear.

And in time, the telltale shape of Whale Island becomes visible in the distance, its lush green hump distinct against the brilliant blue of sea and sky. Gon leaps to his feet, then bounds onto the deck, rocking the boat, and races to the bow, gripping the railing to lean over as the sea breeze whips his hair about his face and tangles salt in his locks.

He remains there, clinging to the front, until Kurapika and Killua navigate the boat to the docks, slowing its advance near the shore. Leorio peers up toward the town and swallows his immediate suspicions. There are plenty of reasons for the area to be quiet, after all, and it isn’t as though they announced their arrival ahead of time. Expecting a reception is foolish, especially during times like these.

Leorio hops out of the boat once the dock is close enough and secures the vessel with a rope to a sturdy post. Though Gon practically vibrates with anticipation, he manages to stay put, waiting for the others to disembark and proceed toward the town rather than running ahead. Leorio considers commending him but thinks better of it as he finishes the knot.

“Let’s take it slow now,” Leorio says calmly. “We don’t want to surprise anyone or get ourselves attacked.”

Gon is the first to agree. “It must have been pretty scary for them out here, all alone on the island. But I’m sure they’ll all be happy to see us. Aunt Mito might even cry!”

“Should you really sound so excited about that, Gon?” Killua asks, raising an inquisitive brow.

With a laugh, Gon shrugs. “I’m just excited to see her, even if she’s angry or scared or sad. I miss her, and I know she misses me, too.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Gon,” Kurapika says, resting his hand on Gon’s shoulder. “So let’s make sure our arrival isn’t too much of a shock. We’ll take our time getting up there so that, if word happens to spread, she’ll be ready for you.”

Gon nods, donning a serious and mature expression before it dissolves into a grin. “We have so much to do here. This is the perfect place for a vacation!”

Leorio can’t bring himself to correct Gon—it’s not  _ really _ a vacation, after all, more of a respite from tragedy and fear and pain—and instead decides to lead the way into the town square. As he’d noticed from the boat, everything seems still and quiet. This in and of itself is not terribly concerning. Everywhere they’ve visited has lacked liveliness if not life altogether, so it is almost comforting to know that Whale Island, too, is reflective of the time.

At least, that is how it feels at first. But Whale Island, Leorio thinks, was supposed to remain untouched, immune to the influence of the zombie apocalypse, and yet this appearance suggests otherwise. They could have simply taken their warnings to heart upon their departure, settling into isolation and taking extra precautions to ensure that the spread of the infection passes the island by.

But the darker, more fearful part of Leorio knows that this is wishful thinking. It is entirely more likely that, following their brief visit several months ago, someone else arrived, bearing the infection, and quickly spread it to the inhabitants here, condemning them to a life of hunger and depravity on this isolated island. Leorio wonders, then, if they are safe at all, or if they have actually wandered into the worst place they could possibly find—a community of zombies without food or escape, without hope.

Leorio shakes his head as he navigates the outer edge of the square, peering behind shuttered stores and dark houses. The others follow after him, clinging to his shadow. Choking down the rising sense of unease in his throat, Leorio approaches the nearest building, clinging to the outer wall before peering inside. Once his eyes adjust to the darkness, he finds no signs of life, just a toppled table and abandoned belongings, scattered on the floor.

The dread grows, tumorous, in his throat. He proceeds to move around the building, scanning their surroundings for movement. Gon’s increasing anxiety is palpable like humidity against Leorio’s back. He wants to reassure Gon, tell him that there is nothing to worry about and that there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for this strange atmosphere, but Leorio doesn’t want to lie. He can’t convince his tongue to say the words that would, at most, placate him for a few moments before the truth becomes blatantly apparent.

Leorio keeps his pace slow and measured, navigating the cobbled path and grassy patches with care. He trusts, by now, that the others do the same.

Then, by the edge of the square, near a cluster of barricaded buildings, he spots them, and the remaining shred of hope he’s clung to escapes his grasp like wisps of smoke.

He slows to a stop as they lumber, arms limp and legs dragging, in their direction. Cowering against the wall of the nearest building, Leorio swallows before addressing the others. “There’s a cluster of them—zombies—near the edge of the forest. I think they already know we’re here, but we should be able to outrun them.”

Gon’s expression is surprisingly blank. He steps forward to catch a glimpse of what lurks around the corner and returns without change. “Let’s go to Aunt Mito.”

Leorio nods, deciding against his better judgement to believe in the possibility of salvation, in the idea that perhaps, by miracle, Mito is safe and well and secure up in her clifftop home, struggling with dwindling supplies, perhaps, but alive.

They bolt from the town square. A brief cacophony of moans rises up behind them, accompanied by the shuffling of feet over dirt and shoes scuffing against stone, but the sounds fade as the group quickens their pace, desperate to evade and avoid contact.

The path that leads from the town to the cliffside home is long, winding, and narrow. When Alluka starts to slow, Killua automatically kneels down and hoists her onto his back. His pace doesn’t diminish, and Alluka’s wide, delighted grin improves morale by the smallest degree.

“At least the weather’s nice,” Leorio says blandly. The silent advance has begun to grate on his resolve, eroding the sense of security and faith he’s struggled to cling to. And while the comment, met with noncommittal sounds of agreement, is innocuous and mundane, Leorio realizes that the day  _ is _ uncommonly pleasant, warm with brilliant sunshine and a cool breeze. For a moment, he allows himself the fantasy of an ordinary visit, a true vacation, where they can forget all obligations and worries and simply enjoy the sea breeze, Mito’s cooking, and casual conversations about anything and everything.

As Leorio indulges in this small, fleeting reverie, Gon passes him, dirt kicking up in low clouds in his wake. Before Leorio can call out, he lifts his head to look ahead. The home is now in site, rising up at the top of the hill like a beacon of familiarity and welcome. In the tall, unkempt lawn, there is a willowy figure who, Leorio quickly realizes, is Mito.

At the same time, they all realize. She is sluggish and unsteady, arms limp even as she lifts them in front of her. Her hair is matted in places and wispy in others, and her mouth hangs open, spilling drool down her chin and onto her tattered dress. When she moans, they can hear the hair-raising sound clearly, its tone not quite human, and certainly not alive.

And Gon is running directly into her arms.

Leorio hears himself shout, and his cry builds with the others as they all sprint to intercept Gon. Killua bursts forward, shrouded in light, his face twisted with desperation, but Gon is already there, wrapping his arms around Mito’s waist, burying his face in her shoulder, staining her dress with his tears.

As they watch, Leorio frozen with horror and Killua still running, still reaching, Mito bites down on Gon’s neck, blood gushing from the wound and washing over his shoulder and down his arm and chest until he is bathed in red. Gon flinches but does not attempt to pull away. Instead, with tears in his eyes, he tightens his hold on Mito and stifles a sob before speaking, his voice soft but clear enough for all to hear. “I came back. I’m whole. I kept my promise, Aunt Mito.”

Finally, Killua is close enough to grab Gon by the shirt, and he yanks Gon backward, tearing him from Mito’s violent hold, causing a fresh spray of blood to arc up in his wake, splashing onto Killua’s cheek and chest. At the same time, Kurapika cooly draws his gun and fires, closing his eyes in reverence when the bullet lodges in Mito’s forehead and she goes down, stiff and still.

Frantic, Killua presses a hand to Gon’s neck as Leorio races over, ripping open fresh bandages to press against the wound, his hands trembling even as he tries to deny the inevitable. 

Because they all know what comes next. There is no cure, no trick, no way out—not this time. The skin about Gon’s wound has already purpled, rotting as they watch, and though Leorio desperately tries to staunch the bleeding, he knows that all this effort is futile.

“Gon,” Leorio says, choking on the syllable. “I’m sorry. I don’t—”

But Gon shakes his head and manages a smile. “I know. It’s okay.”

His words make Leorio shudder and grow cold. He grits his teeth and fights the impulse to shout, to wail and argue. It  _ isn’t _ okay; it is far from okay. But it is true and real and raw. Instead of responding, Leorio grinds his unoccupied fist into the dirt and curses under his breath, dedicating the rest of his energy toward alleviating any of Gon’s pain he can.

Killua is weeping. His slender shoulders heave as he cries, silent but pained. Alluka rubs small circles against his back as tears stream down her cheeks.

When Gon takes Killua’s hands in his own, bloodying Killua’s pale skin, Killua flinches but meets Gon’s ever-earnest eyes. “Will you do it?”

“Do what?” Killua stammers.

“Will you be the one to kill me?”

Vehement, Killua drops Gon’s hands as though his touch had scalded him. “No. No, I won’t. I can’t. I can’t do that, Gon.”

With a calm, knowing gaze, Gon nods, his smile tinged with sadness. Despite Kurapika’s insistence that he stay put, Gon forces himself to his feet, swaying slightly, one palm pressed to his neck. His eyes are focused, bearing that characteristic stubborn drive of his, and briefly, it is easy for Leorio to dismiss the blood staining Gon’s skin and clothes and the infection so visibly spreading up his neck and creeping onto his face. Leorio wishes—so forcefully his chest aches—for this to be a nightmare or a delusion or his own personal hell.

But the scene continues, Gon’s voice ringing loud and clear with familiar boldness.

“I don’t want anyone else to suffer,” he says, turning away from them all, facing the sea. “So I’ll… I’ll take care of it.”

When he begins walking toward the cliff, a chorus of voices, pleading and desperate, rises up around him, and Killua lurches to his feet, stumbling forward to grab Gon’s free hand and anchor him. His tears flow freely, lips pinched and wavering. “No. You can’t go alone. I’ll go with you. We can do this together.”

And then Alluka is sobbing, palms pressed to her eyes as her shoulders shake. Her visceral sorrow snaps Leorio back to the moment, and he loops an arm around her shoulders to support her. His tongue sharp, he shouts, “What about your sister, Killua? What about the rest of your life? You don’t have to give it up. Are you an idiot?”

Killua ignores him, his eyes trained on Gon. Alluka tries to speak, but her words are warbled, unintelligible. He stiffens as her cries grow louder, less coherent, his shoulders trembling.

Without turning, Killua barks, “Alluka, tell Nanika to come out. Hurry. She might—”

But Alluka whimpers. “She doesn’t want to. She’s scared.”

“I don’t care!” Killua snaps, his body wracked with tremors. “Please, Alluka—”

Gon smiles, shifting his hand in Killua’s grasp so that he can squeeze it before drawing it to his lips. Killua falls silent; Gon’s touch seems to settle him, coaxing him into a brief, deliberate calm before he speaks. “No, Killua. They’re right. I don’t want you to come. I don’t want anyone to do anything. Just do me one favor?”

Killua bites down on his tongue before sucking in air and lifting his chin. “Anything.”

With a coy tilt of his head, Gon beams. “Don’t forget about me.”

Before Killua can respond, Gon tears away from Killua and races toward the cliff. Kurapika surges forward and seizes Killua by the waist to ensure he doesn’t follow, but Killua is rooted in place, gaping at the cliff, one hand still outstretched.

And then, Gon is out of sight. There is an unrelenting silence, save for the distant cry of seabirds and the sound of waves crashing against the rocks far below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always encouraged and appreciated ^-^


	8. Chapter 8

They vacate Whale Island within the day after digging a shallow grave for Mito and constructing a simple but evocative monument, rugged and mundane, to honor Gon. Once he has grown numb enough to move, Killua insists that he take charge of the construction, placing each stone with care until they form a small tower. When they descend the hill in the direction of the town, Leorio spares a final glance back at the home and the two solemn graves, shoddy and mundane but sincere, resting there.

He bites back tears, grinding a fist into his chest in an effort to remind himself that they have all cried their share, that crying more now will only set them back when they need to keep moving.

Killua keeps his eyes—red, swollen, dull—on the dirt at his feet while Alluka clings to his arm so tightly, Leorio briefly worries about his circulation. Rather than dwelling on the attachment, Leorio instead directs his attention to the town, more vigilant than before, determined to keep them all far from harm’s reach, ignoring that harrowing pang of guilt when he realizes how much he’s failed.

And soon, they are aboard the boat once more, and Whale Island is behind them, rising softly above the waves against a gray-blue sky, growing pale and dark and dismal the farther they go. When the island is no longer in sight, Leorio releases a particularly heavy breath and tucks away the trauma, staving off the pain of loss and grief and guilt until he finds a safe moment alone to wallow.

Because, he knows, there is nothing beautiful in loss. It is pain and it is sorrow and it is permanent, even when the initial shock and despair have passed. It leaves marks. It latches onto memory, seeps into nostalgia, lingers in dreams. Leorio knows that, if he survives long enough, he will one day feel numb to the grief and be able to think of Gon with his brilliant grin and carefree attitude until the guilt curls into his stomach like claws and rips him open.

But for now, he forces himself to forget. He chooses a distraction, all of them, staring at the glass-like sea, watching the water ripple in the boat’s wake, noting the stoic demeanor of his companions as the boat sails into evening, night falling around them like a translucent shroud until the sky is filled with glittering stars, gleaming through smoke-like clouds.

Kurapika slows the boat when it becomes too dark to effectively navigate. “We should get some rest. It doesn’t feel like there are any storms on the way, based on the pressure gauge, and we should be safe here.”

“I’ll keep watch for a shift,” Leorio volunteers, already plopping down on the captain’s chair behind the wheel. “And if I feel us moving, I’ll try and fix it.”

“Just wake me up,” Kurapika says gently.

“If the boat starts to move, I will wake you up,” Leorio says. He looks to Alluka and Killua who huddle close together. Alluka meets his eyes with a weak but valiant smile, and Killua stares, his gaze hollow, at the floor. Leorio approaches, kneeling before Killua but keeping a few feet between them. “If you need help sleeping, I can give you some medicine to help. At any rate, you need to sleep.”

“Drugs won’t work,” Killua mutters. “Immune, remember?”

“It’s been a while since you’ve trained,” Leorio insists. “It’s worth a shot. I’d rather try than have you stay awake all night. I suppose it won’t really convince you if I ask you to do it for me, or say ‘pretty please,’ huh?”

To Leorio’s surprise, Killua smiles, though the expression is fragile. “Fine. Give me the best you’ve got.”

Leorio nods as he rises, directing his attention on his task and avoiding any extraneous thoughts, dismissing them as they appear. ( _ Killua must really _ —nope.  _ If only I _ —stop it.  _ We should have _ —knock it off already.) He withdraws the morphine and a clean needle, motioning for Alluka to circle around to Killua’s other side and distract him before Leorio administers the dosage. He would rather Killua not have to see the needle if it can be avoided.

Killua doesn’t flinch and in fact makes no indication that he’s felt the injection at all. When Leorio adheres a bandage—one that is bright pink, leftover from his first aid kit from home—Killua actually manages a laugh. “Good choice, old man.”

And soon, Killua’s eyelids are fluttering, and Alluka draws him against her, leaning his head on her shoulder, and she flashes a bold thumbs-up to Leorio who can’t help but smile in response, patting her head before draping a blanket over the two of them. As they slumber, Leorio wishes he could freeze time, give them as many nights of rest they need to feel even the slightest bit more whole.

Time is a luxury. So, tragically, is rest. They have been fortunate. They have been lucky beyond comparison. Leorio hates thinking like this, but he supposes it was only a matter of time before all that good fortune came back to gut them.

He shakes his head and meets Kurapika’s eyes. Kurapika motions for Leorio to join him near the boat’s stern, away from the sleeping Zoldycks, and takes one of Leorio’s hands in his once he is close enough. He draws his thumb over Leorio’s knuckles, mouth twitching, eyes damp. “It’s not easy,” he says. “No matter how many people you lose, each one hurts just as much.”

Leorio nods, gently pulling Kurapika against his side and leaning against the back railing. “Yeah.”

Kurapika rests his head on Leorio’s chest and closes his eyes. As he does so, Leorio wonders what his heart beat sounds like, if it is steady and reassuring or if it betrays the unshakeable guilt and dread he feels. Whatever Kurapika hears, he makes no comment. Instead, he sighs, leaning into Leorio more fully. 

“Will it help,” Kurapika says softly, “if I tell you not to blame yourself?”

With a short, sharp laugh, Leorio places his hand at the back of Kurapika’s head and tousles the hair there. “No, not really.”

“Well, it was worth a shot.”

Leorio chuckles under his breath and rests his chin against the top of Kurapika’s head. “You should really get some sleep. Are you in any pain?”

“No.”

“Are you lying?”

“I’m not,” Kurapika says, his voice muffled against Leorio’s shirt. “I’m fine.”

Leorio considers confronting him about the obvious lie and his likely intentions—preserving their supplies and deflecting concern, of course—but based on Kurapika’s languid state, soft voice, and lack of energy, Leorio reasons that Kurapika can rest well enough even without a mild sedative.

“If you say so,” Leorio finally relents, taking Kurapika’s hand and guiding him to a padded bench on the back end of the boat. “Just let me know if anything changes.”

Obediently, Kurapika sits, but before lying down, he reaches up to cup Leorio’s face, fingertips grazing the stubble that litters his jawbone, and gently tugs him down into a light, tender kiss. Smoothing his fingers over Leorio’s cheek, Kurapika meets his eyes with a firm, defiant gaze. “It isn’t your fault. Don’t let it eat away at you.”

Leorio pats Kurapika’s hand before standing back up, waiting for Kurapika to lie down before laying a blanket over his prone form. “Goodnight.”

He settles in the steering seat, leaning back to peer at the stars beyond the ship’s obstruction. The night is undeniably beautiful. He finds it difficult to appreciate such things, especially now, wondering who, if anyone, is deserving.

But then, such lofty thoughts don’t suit him. He stares at the stars until they blur in his vision, become white streaks and desaturated blobs in the blue-black sky. And then, hours later, Kurapika is tapping him on the shoulder, pointing to the bench and scowling until Leorio relents.

When Leorio lies down, he feels the tension from the day sink into his spine, anchoring him to the bench, and though he figures the soreness will keep him awake, he is surprised to find himself blinking awake in the blinding daylight, a rich blue sky hanging above, no clouds in sight.

From the nearest shore, the Hunter Association HQ is a few days away, but by now, they are accustomed to long treks, though for this particular leg of their trip, they spend much of their time in near silence. Ordinarily, Leorio might consider this to be peaceful; there are fewer risks, after all, when he can actually listen for approaching threats, when they do not attract unnecessary attention. Now, the atmosphere is heavy with absence, and he struggles to find the right words to say, coming up empty in the end.

By the time they near the city, Leorio motions for them to gather together on the roadside. “We stick together no matter what, right?”

“Duh,” Killua says, but his response lacks bite.

“Good, good,” Leorio says. “I’m hoping we won’t have trouble, but honestly…”

As he trails off, a familiar dread forms a knot in his stomach. He doesn’t know why he insists on leading with such niceties. It’s become apparent that, no matter how well they prepare for what might come and no matter how vigilant they are, the truth is that the unknown, the unforeseen, will always best them.

Leorio shakes his head, slapping a palm to his forehead. Before he can speak, Kurapika interjects, brandishing the cool, collected demeanor he’s honed over the years. “What Leorio means to say,” he says, his eyes darting to meet Leorio’s, “is that this is no different from anything we’ve faced before. Stick together, stay quiet, be prepared, and know that running is a good option if it comes down to it. Understand?”

Killua accompanies his acknowledgement with an eye roll, but Alluka closes her fists near her chest and gives a heartfelt nod in agreement.

Kurapika gives a tight-lipped smile. “Good. Then let’s get moving.”

As he resumes their course, Kurapika pats Leorio on the back, his fingers resting momentarily against his shoulder blade, with the lightest gesture of reassurance possible. Rather than respond aloud, Leorio steels his nerves and follows after Kurapika, falling behind Killua and Alluka to take up the rear. He tries not to think about his weariness, his lack of morale; as the eldest, he feels he should be able to better manage things like grief and exhaustion, but at most, he feels that his age makes him more susceptible to aches and pains, things that nest in the bones and joints, haunting in nature and permanent.

Soon, the city limits become visible. As they draw closer, they easily find the Hunter Association HQ building with its clear and vivid logo blazing on its facade, and in many ways, despite the tragedy that has preceded their arrival, it serves as a beacon, offering Leorio a sense of relief. Beyond their own strength and cooperation, the Association is one thing that has consistently served to facilitate hope. Whatever they may find here—more survivors, researchers, even a cure—Leorio has silently prayed that it provides them with a path forward. Otherwise, he isn’t sure just what they’ll do but retrace their steps, not knowing what the future holds or if there is a promising future for them at all.

It becomes apparent shortly upon entering the city limits that the demographics of the area are significantly skewed. In small clusters, larger mobs, and occasional pairs, zombies roam the streets, scouring the area for their next meal. Without being prompted, Alluka covers her mouth with both hands to silence her breathing, and Killua keeps a hand tight on her shoulder, eyes wide and almost wild.

Leorio brings a finger to his lips, the gesture redundant but habitual. They pace themselves, moving at a speed that can only be described as unbearable. Leorio’s nerves jolt at each corner, his limbs locked and ready to bolt, but he forces himself to ignore his instincts. With the blade of his knife, he uses reflections to peer around corners and determine their chances of stealth.

By the time they are within a few blocks of the Association, Leorio’s back is damp with sweat, the slow and methodical approach proving to be just as exhausting as a sprint. As Leorio eyes the building and watches for any sign of movement, Killua enters his peripheral vision, hands in his pockets and eyes downcast.

“I want to take Alluka,” Killua says, finally lifting his face. “I’ll get her up to the roof, and we’ll wait for you there. Whoever or whatever is inside, I want—I have—to make sure she’s safe.”

In Killua’s eyes, Leorio sees raw honesty and a shadow of desperation. After the loss of someone important, it is only natural to cling to those left. Without any further hesitation, Leorio places a hand on Killua’s shoulder and nods, allowing himself a small smile. “Of course. Be careful.”

He doesn’t give a warning or any further instructions. It is better, he convinces himself, to ignore the possibility that they will not reunite. There is no need for unnecessary thoughts of peril. Leorio has faith that the worst has already come. He has to.

With a nod of gratitude in a rare moment of humility, Killua jabs Leorio in the ribs with a gentle fist before coaxing Alluka onto his back. “We’ll see you soon. Don’t keep us waiting.”

As quickly as he speaks, Killua is off, leaving behind a trail of blue sparks in his wake. Leorio turns to Kurapika and extends a hand. “Ready?”

Kurapika raises an eyebrow but slips his hand into Leorio’s hold. “Always.”

Getting inside the building is easy. The glass doors have been shattered, and the first floor lobby is empty, save for toppled furniture, debris, and the occasional smear of dried blood on the tiles. It is dark and dreary, but it is quiet, tame. Leorio nods towards the stairs, secured behind metal doors with narrow panels of wire glass. The doors are locked, but with some effort, Leorio and Kurapika shatter the glass and bend back the metal to open them from the inside.

“It’s a good sign, right?” Leorio says, wiping sweat from his forehead. “I mean, zombies can’t travel through locked doors.”

Kurapika purses his lips as he guides the doors shut behind them. “I don’t know. Something is making me feel uneasy.”

“Don’t get too pessimistic on me yet,” Leorio pleads, taking the stairs two at a time and pausing at the first landing. “There’s really only so much I can handle today.”

With a reluctant nod, Kurapika begins his ascent, sparing a single glance back at the doors before shaking his head and focusing on the stairs. “Are we going to check each floor?”

“We could,” Leorio says, “but I had a feeling we should check the Zodiac’s boardroom first.”

Kurapika shrugs. Leorio looks up through the center of the spiralling stairwell until he begins to feel dizzy. He doesn’t know what he fears more: the thought of someone with ill-intentions or a zombie horde awaiting them, or no sign of life at all.

And then, before long, they reach the targeted floor of offices and meeting rooms. Leorio hesitates, one hand on the door’s handle, but he works through it, pulling open the door, already bristling and ready to fight.

But the floor is dark and quiet. Everything appears undisturbed. Wilted plants in pots rest upon dust-coated desks, and if not for such indicators of the passage of time, Leorio suspects that this sight would have been common months ago before the infection began to spread.

Even so, he forces himself to remain wary, taking slow steps and peering into closed offices as they pass by them. Each room is dark and still; Leorio feels that familiar sinking sensation in his stomach as he realizes that it is being alone that he fears the most.

When Kurapika takes his hand, Leorio realizes he is trembling, if only a little. After meeting Kurapika’s stern but caring gaze, he closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep, steady breath, and convincing himself to keep moving. After all, he thinks, the boardroom is still ahead.

As they draw closer to the doors, Kurapika slows, holding up a hand to keep Leorio from advancing further. In the ensuing silence, Leorio hears the clink of glass against wood, shuffling sounds, wheels rolling across the floor. Leorio readies his blade while Kurapika draws his bokken, and together, they approach, closing in on either side of the entrance before mutually deciding to kick the door in.

There is a yelp from the head of the table. A glass bottle topples, spilling its golden liquid atop the lacquered wood. Now standing, both palms flat against the table, Ging Freecs eyes the two of them with some horrible combination of shock, disdain, and disappointment. After a moment, he sighs, righting his bottle and sinking heavily back into the office chair he’s evidently claimed as his own. “Long time, no see. Didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Likewise,” Leorio grunts, shoulders stiff as he sheathes his switchblade. “You alone?”

Gesturing broadly with both hands, Ging grins. “This is my castle now. What about you two? Off on a honeymoon?”

Leorio clenches his fists. “Of course not.”

Squinting, Ging leans back in his chair as though trying to peer through and around the two of them. “So, where’s my idiot kid? Off risking his hide as usual?”

Before Leorio realizes it, Kurapika is clinging to his arm, pulling him backward, gritting his teeth in an effort to anchor him. Leorio freezes when he feels himself shaking, but his anger remains, molten and bitter. “What’s the matter with you? How can you talk about Gon like that?”

At once, Ging seems to sober, lifting his chin with an uncharacteristic solemnity in his eyes. “Shit. He’s dead. Is that right?”

A modicum of fight flees from Leorio’s body. “Yeah, he is.”

“Damn,” Ging says, shaking his head. He pats his pockets as though looking for cigarettes but gives up quickly. “Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. Kid’s a mess.”

“And where were you?” Leorio snaps. “All this time, where have you been?”

Ging blinks. “Here. I was waiting. I figured he’d show up eventually. Guess I wasted my time.”

Leorio grinds his teeth. “God, he deserved better than you. He always did. You could have done so much better.”

Unfazed, Ging shrugs, downing the remnants of the bottle following its spill. “Look, if he died, he died. Just goes to show he was too weak in the end, and that’s all there is to it, I guess. Am I disappointed? Absolutely. But he was a Hunter, too. He knew what the world was like and how dangerous it is. How is it my fault that he couldn’t keep himself alive?”

Burning, blinded, Leorio clumsily reaches around Kurapika, the motion surprising both of them, to seize the gun at his hip. Leorio darts away before Kurapika can confiscate it, and he levels the barrel, both hands gripping the gun, his jaw set. Ging raises his hands in what Leorio imagines to be mock surrender, but Leorio remains unmoved.

“Is that really what you think? After everything he went through, that’s how you feel about your own son?” Leorio grips the gun more tightly, hands shaking, finger navigating to the trigger.

Ging laughs a little and patiently motions for Leorio to calm down. “Hey, hey. You aren’t gonna shoot me, are ya? Thought you wanted to be a doctor.”

“I  _ am _ a doctor, you son of a bitch,” Leorio says.

With a cheap, sarcastic scoff, Ging opens his mouth to protest just as Leorio pulls the trigger.

The gunshot rings clearly throughout the room, jarring and deafening all at once. Then Ging is lying on the ground, groaning, a great, bloody, gaping wound in his thigh, a thousand curses flying from his lips.

Numb, Leorio flips the gun around and presses it into Kurapika’s hand without meeting his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, just walks past him, heading toward the stairs, his mind filled with static and the impression of fleeting rage.

Before he knows it, he is on the roof, awash with evening light and a crisp, refreshing breeze. Leorio gulps in air, shutting his eyes against the sun and only reopening them when he feels a tug on his sleeve.

Alluka peers up at him, worry blatant in her eyes, with Killua beside her, gaze averted. She looks behind Leorio, seeming confused. “Where’s Kurapika?”

He swallows. “He’s downstairs. I’m sure he’ll be up soon.”

Killua turns on him. “You left him  _ alone _ ?”

Raising his hands, Leorio takes a step back. “Whoa, kiddo. He can take care of himself. Besides, it’s not like there was any real threat down there.”

“No,” Kurapika says from behind him, emerging from the stairwell as he wipes his bloody hands on his shirt. “The only danger, it seems, was you.”

Alluka surges toward him, panicking, but Kurapika quickly assures her that he’s fine, that it isn’t  _ his _ blood that’s staining his clothes. His gaze is pointed, but there is sympathy there, too, and the smallest tint of fear.

Killua raises a brow. “You gonna tell us what happened?”

“We found Ging,” Kurapika says before Leorio can think to respond. “And Leorio decided to shoot him. Don’t worry; I staunched the blood as best I could and left him there. If you want to make amends, you can do the real doctor work.”

Killua and Alluka watch Leorio with unwavering eyes. In Killua’s gaze, Leorio sees curiosity and, if he dares to imagine it, a bit of respect. Even so, Leorio is already remorseful, pricked by guilt and shame—though he won’t deny the satisfaction he felt in the moment.

“I’m not proud of it,” Leorio says. He moves past Killua to the edge of the roof, gripping the railing and looking down at the static streets below. “I know Gon wouldn’t be happy about my choice. But Ging is a dick, and Gon never understood that. I don’t regret it. He said some terrible things down there, and he’s done a lot of awful things. I guess that doesn’t justify my actions, but I’ll be the first to admit that maybe I’m not exactly all right, maybe I’m a little fucked up, maybe I don’t see certain things, like morality, as clearly as I should. Maybe I shouldn’t have shot him. But the reality is, I did. And now I have to deal with that. Okay?”

Kurapika stays silent. Instead of offering his thoughts, he places his hand on Leorio’s back and leans into him, looking out across the city as evening sets in.

Leorio feels Alluka’s arms wind around his waist, her embrace light but sincere, and though Killua doesn’t join in, he moves closer, standing with his hands in his pockets, lifting his face to give Leorio a brief, understanding nod.

This moment of peace, however fraught with tension and bloodshed and aches it may be, feels almost restorative. Leorio watches as the golden light of dusk bleeds into the horizon, dyeing the sky a myriad of dark but brilliant colors, and marvels at the existence of something so beautiful yet mundane, a daily occurrence he anticipates but fails to appreciate.

“So,” he says after several minutes of silence, “what do we do now?”

“While we’re here, we might as well raid the HQ’s resources,” Kurapika suggests, as though he’s already hatched this plan several hours if not days earlier. “There may be other survivors or emergency phone lines or research notes from before the situation heightened to an uncontainable degree.”

Leorio blinks. “That’s pretty thorough.”

“And we might as well set up camp here,” Killua suggests with a shrug. “The building’s pretty secure, right? They might even have some supplies stored here—if Ging hasn’t used it all up, that is.”

Nodding slowly, Leorio processes these ideas with deliberation. “Solid. Anything else?”

“You might not like this,” Kurapika says hesitantly, “but I think we ought to communicate with Ging again. I have a feeling he knows something that could be useful. And if you offer to treat him, he might be willing to let bygones be bygones.”

Leorio’s face twists into something certainly sour and ugly, but after a few seconds of consideration, he deflates. “Fine. Just know that if he acts up again, I will not hesitate to deck him.”

No one argues. In fact, this solution seems to satisfy all of them. Before long, once night begins to settle in, they return downstairs, sifting through the materials left out on desks, organizing them into relevant piles, and covering the entire floor before venturing back into the boardroom.

Ging is propped up in his chair, injured leg elevated, blood matting his trousers to his skin. He cracks open an eye when they enter. “Come back for more?”

Leorio doesn’t respond right away. He approaches Ging, rests his duffle bag on the table, and removes a few key supplies. “We have a proposition.”

“You have my full attention,” Ging says with a limp flourish of his hands.

“I’ll fix up your leg, and you give us some information,” Leorio says, biting his cheek when it becomes difficult to keep his voice level.

“Sure,” Ging says, lacing his fingers behind his head. “What do you want to know?”

Leorio lays a pile of papers before him. After skimming them, the group has determined that the documents contain early research pertaining to the infection, including a potential origin as well as an optimistic look at the cultivation of a treatment. They lack context, direction, but Kurapika’s confidence that Ging has more information compels Leorio to proceed.

Jabbing the documents with his index finger, Leorio manages a toothy smile, born from unprecedented faith in possibility and a renewed sense of purpose. He leans in close to speak, watching Ging’s eyes for a reaction, already anticipating the potential for adventure and hope that his response will provide.

“What do you know about the Dark Continent?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always encouraged and appreciated ^-^


	9. Epilogue

Each day, even when hidden by clouds and rain, the sun appears to rise and set over the horizons as the planet continues its orbit. Each day, the sun shines, bearing down warmth and light, even when they are difficult to perceive. Each day, dawn and dusk pass with little impact on life with their brief existences, those fleeting glimpses of crossed boundaries and transition.

The sun rises on a small town where a lone survivor perches on a rooftop, eyes rimmed red, looking toward the sun with fading hope, a bag slung over the determined slope of his shoulders as he prepares to carve a new path of independent survival. When the sun sets, he is alone, but he proceeds with the belief that this will not be forever, that he will encounter others like him again, that he will continue to survive.

In the morning, the sunlight pools atop the buildings in a small city, illuminating the boarded-up shape of a grocery store. A woman, looking much younger than her years, tugs on the rope still dangling from the window before turning to her companions and mouthing,  _ Jackpot _ . By dusk, they raid the place, filling a truck with all of the salvageable supplies before fleeing, the woman riding atop the car and clutching a megaphone, ready to call out to survivors—because there are many, she knows, hiding and hungry, and they may need a savior. And, naturally, she is eager to give the zombies a taste of her nen, too.

Mornings and evenings pass without event on Whale Island. The brilliant gold of dawn and the deep, miraculous colors of dusk go unnoticed. On a cliff side, seaward edge, rests a figure, one hand clinging to the rock face as waves batter his back, washing away the blackened blood from his neck and body. For a moment, he looks toward the sun as it sets, features softening, before he attempts to climb the wall again and again and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! <3 Connect with me on Tumblr @sweetautumnwine if you want to talk HxH and/or writing. As always, comments are encouraged and appreciated ^-^


End file.
